


A dealer, not a Death Eater

by Jaxon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Animal Death, Corporal Punishment, Domestic Violence, Dubious Consent, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First War with Voldemort, Flashbacks, Not Canon Compliant, Rape/Non-con Elements, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-05 14:15:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 86
Words: 301,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14046060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaxon/pseuds/Jaxon
Summary: It should've been simple:  Severus falls for Lily, Lily falls for Severus, and the pair live happily ever after.Instead, Voldemort is rising, and the Ministry is corrupt.  With her options in the wizarding world curtailed, Lily quickly aligns herself with the Order of the Phoenix, whilst boyfriend Severus remains deliberately apolitical.After all, as a full citizen, he's got rather more to lose.  With Lily forbidden from earning, he's keeping them both, with all of his spare time eaten up by his apprenticeship and his casual hours behind the bar at the Three Broomsticks.Not to mention his little side-hobby.  Avoiding Azkaban.  Touting illegal potions carries a rather harsh sentence, you see...





	1. Like a record with a scratch in

It's dark in their bedroom when she swings her legs from under the covers and gathers her robe from behind the door.  The living room is bathed in the pale glow from the street light outside; the curtains askew, having been hastily pulled open.  She glances at the front door, expecting to see his discarded boots on the mat, but a trail of grit and mud leads her to their tiny kitchen instead.

She finds him peering at a sickly flame, twisting the knob on the stove one way and then the other, both to little effect.  After a long moment, he huffs, whips his wand from his sleeve and casts.  The gas catches with a low roar, and a blue flame spirals high into the air.  He steps back, waiting for it to calm with a small smile of triumph, and levitates the frying pan from the draining board to the hob.

He doesn't spot her in the doorway, and she pulls her dressing gown more firmly around her as she watches him move between the fridge and the cooker.  He drops far more lard than necessary into the pan, followed by black pudding and bacon, bread and then eggs.  It's at that moment that she notices that he's swaying slightly.  The smell is intoxicating – the dainty salmon salad she ate five hours earlier, although exquisitely prepared, has left a gap.

"Have you ever cooked anything that's not deep fried?"

His head jerks up, and a broad smile fills his face.  "I thought you were asleep."  He scoops the fried food onto a plate, and – with an egg and two slices of bacon left in the pan – he points the spatula towards her.  "Hungry?"

She is, and she nods.  Another plate is pulled from the cupboard, and he eagerly fills it with a mountain of food – far too much for a midnight feast.  He grabs the half eaten loaf of bread – _half eaten already?_ – and takes a fresh slice, whipping it around the pan until the grease is mopped up, and then places it on the side of her plate.

"I haven't set the table," he says, extinguishing the flame with a flick of his hand, and levitating both plates towards the sofa.  He sits, and leans over the arm, pulling yesterday's Prophet from the magazine rack.  She sits next to him as he pulls the newspaper into two unequal halves, folding each and dropping one on her knee, the other on his.  Then, he plucks his plate out of thin air and places it on his now-protected lap.  "Well?" he says, between gulping bites.  "Dig in."

She follows suit, pulling the warm plate onto her half of the newspaper.  The food is hot and greasy, and it's difficult to eat in a dignified manner with the dish balanced on her knees.  He looks over, knowingly, spearing another whole slice of bacon onto his fork, bending it over and back again until it's pierced four or five times.  Then he opens his mouth wide, taking it all in at once and chewing with gusto.  His eyes flash with amusement at her horrified look.

"Must you?"

"Come on," he says, his voice muffled by food.  "You're not at Tuney's now."

She stiffens at the mention of her sister, but he doesn't notice.  He barrels on, not pausing between mouthfuls to swallow his food properly, and she's convinced that if she stops watching him, he could choke at any second.  She finds herself entranced by a thin smear of wet yolk that's escaped from the corner of his lips, appalled and disgusted by his gluttony, and not for the first time, left wondering how she came to be sat here.  The contrast between her home and Petunia's home - or, more plainly, her boyfriend and Petunia's husband - couldn't be more stark.

He senses her watching him, and he raises his thumb to his chin.  He makes contact with the livid orange smear, and then grins bashfully – apologetically.  He balances his cutlery on his plate and licks his fingers, rubbing his stubbly skin.  "Sorry," he says, and she can tell he means it.  He picks up his cutlery once more and makes quick work of the remains of his food, his knife and fork scraping painfully loudly across the plate.  With a quick movement, he's up – still chewing his last mouthful – and coils his fingers in a mime.  "Cuppa?"

She nods, and prods her fork at her rapidly congealing food.  It's now cool to the touch, and far less appetising than it had been five minutes earlier.  She half wonders if he had been right to wolf it down, his fingers gripping the plate with a possessiveness that felt as if he was certain someone was about to whip his meal from him.

And then he's back, a freshly brewed drink levitating before her.  He holds out his hand for the plate.

"I've not finished," she protests, but it's half-hearted, and he grins – his forefinger rummaging in his mouth, picking between his teeth.  "And Severus, _must_ you?"

"We're not in public," he grumbles, whisking her plate away.  "You're meant to be in bed, anyway."

"Leaving you free to indulge in all of your bad habits?" she calls after him, leaning up and arching her back over the sofa.  "And don't think I haven't seen you stamping around in your boots."  He doesn't answer, and she sits back down, plucking her tea from the air.  She warms her hands on the mug, the colour of the drink the perfect shade of tan.  She sips, knowing it will be far too hot to enjoy properly, but she's keen to wash away the taste of fried bread – and it's then she registers the cooling charm he's cast on the liquid, just enough to make it instantly drinkable.

He returns, and drops down onto the sofa, sliding his hand into hers.  "Sorry about my boots-" he starts, just as she begins to thank him for the tea.  "You first," he says, but she simply squeezes his hand.  He waits for a moment in case she changes her mind, taking a swig of his own drink, but when she doesn't speak again, he breaks the silence.  "So? How was Dunderhead Dursley?"

"Sev…"

He snorts.  "C'mon Lil, he _is_ a dunderhead."

"Tuney's talking about having a baby."

"Ugh," he groans.  "She's not, is she?"

"I just said-"

"No," he interrupts, moving his hand in front of his stomach, in a mime of a pregnancy, "I mean, she's not already, is she?"

Lily shakes her head.  "Least, I don't think so.  But they're trying."

"They are bloody trying," he mutters.

"He's offered you a job.  Again."

"Fuck off."

"Daddy thinks you should consider it."

He sits back, clearly affronted.  "And what did you tell Daddy and Dunderhead?"

"I just said you were working hard-"

"Or hardly working, is he?" he retorts, his voice distorting into an eerie mimic of Vernon.

"That's creepy, don't do that."

He grins again.  "I'm right though, aren't I?" She doesn't answer, and his smile grows wider.  "Bloody hell, he's like a record with a scratch in."

She shifts uncomfortably.  "You were late back tonight."

"Thought I wouldn't be missed."  She bristles, but he misses it, his head now between his knees as his fingers fight with the tight knots in his thinning laces.  "You stayed over last time," he continues, by way of explanation.  Again, the tension drops from her shoulders – he's right.  The last time she'd attended a dinner party at her sister's, she'd had one too many of Petunia's daiquiris and had spent the night in the Dursleys' spare room, with a hastily transfigured bucket by her bedside.  It's at that moment that she suddenly remembers that she didn't transfigure the hideous dog ornament back to its original form, and Petunia's boring non-alcoholic evening suddenly makes a lot more sense.

"She thinks I stole it."

His head jerks up, his eyebrows knitted together in a frown.  "Stole what?"

"Last time I was there."  Her hand is now raised to her mouth, laughter escaping from behind her fingers.  "I transfigured an ornament."

He stops what he's doing, and sits back, forcing his boots off with an angry kick to each heel.  He takes her hand from her mouth and kisses it.  "Kleptomaniac."

"It was _hideous_ , Sev! A ruddy awful porcelain dog.  I reckon his sister gave it to them-"

"Sounds like you did them a favour."  He looks up again, his eyes twinkling with mischief.  "Remind me to transfigure a whole row of terrible dog ornaments for the fireplace for their next visit."

"You wouldn't."  At this, he merely raises an eyebrow.  Of course he would, and she knows it.  "Sev, really.  She'd never come over again."

"In that case, I'll do a whole bookcase of them."

"Speaking of which-"

"No."

She stands, and ties her dressing gown a little tighter.  "I knew you'd say no."

"Good."

"But Daddy insisted, so-"

"Lil-"

She looks a little abashed, but raises her chin higher, a smattering of colour filling the tops of her cheeks.  "He is paying for half of the rent on this place, Sev."

"Your half!" he sputters, angrily.  "I pay my own way, thanks very much!"

She glances at his discarded robe, draped carelessly over one of the dining chairs.

"Don't!" And now he's standing, angrily stooping and picking his boots up from the floor.  "Don't judge me for how I make ends meet, Lil."  He unceremoniously drops his boots by the front door, and casts an anti-Alohomora at the lock.  "You've been wined and dined and waited on hand-and-foot at your sister's, and I've been out working all bloody night."

" _All_ night?" The enquiry is mild, but the faint scent of ale and whisky about his person is enough to condemn him.

"I didn't think you were coming back.  I only had a drink."

"With?"

He doesn't answer, and this time she reaches for his robe.  He darts in front of her, but his dulled reactions are too slow – she makes contact with the cloth, and his potion vials clink against each other.

"Slow night, I take it?" Her nostrils have flared, and he tucks his greasy hair behind his ears, as if readying himself for a fight.

"I didn't go up the Hog's," he finally admits.  "I stayed at the Broomsticks.  Had a couple with Ros."

"Worked up an appetite, did you?"

He opens his mouth, but thinks better of it.  It's an effort, but he holds his dark sarcasm to his chest, and stalks back to the sofa, angrily transfiguring a cushion into a pillow, signifying his intent not to join her in their bedroom.

"Don't be pathetic."

"You really think I'm shagging Rosmerta, do you?"

"I just don't want you keeping secrets from me," she says, venturing a little closer to him.  He's practically vibrating with rage, and she places a warm hand on his cool arm.  "You always go up the Hog's if you're working."

He stills, a half transfigured cushion in his grasp.  "There was a raid."  And now it's her turn to freeze, her hand gripping his forearm more tightly.  After a moment, he drops the cushion on the sofa, and places his hand over her own.

"You weren't caught?"

"Would I be here now?" He tosses his head.  "They went early," he says, shrugging.  "Aurors.  Dunderheads, the lot of them.  Raided the place at half nine according to Fletcher.  He came sidling in the Broomsticks at just gone ten, you know what he's like.  Looking for Polyjuice."

She shudders at the thought of Mundungus roaming the streets with a vial of Polyjuice.  "You didn't sell it to him?"

"Not under Rosmerta's nose," he says, "do you think I'm daft? She'd skin me alive."  He shakes his head.  "Told Dung I'd see him tomorrow."

"But we're seeing Mummy and Daddy tomorrow."

" _You're_ seeing Mummy and Daddy tomorrow," he corrects.  "I've got a bit of business to make up for."  She looks pained, and he raises his hand to caress her soft cheek.  "Lil, I'm sorry.  This is how it is.  If I don't make a profit this weekend, I can't replace the ingredients in the stockroom, and if old Jigger notices when he does his stocktake on Tuesday-"

She takes a shuddering breath.  "I think you should stop."

"Stop?" His eyebrows lift towards his hairline.

"It's too risky, brewing illicit potions.  If you're caught-"

"I won't get caught.  I didn't tonight, did I?" He wraps his arms around her waist.  "Got an alibi and everything."

"And what about tomorrow? And next week? And the week after?"

"They don't know anything," he says, firmly.  "If they had any intelligence, any dirt on me, they'd have raided after last orders."

"And what about Jigger?"

He wraps his arms around her more tightly, and nestles his nose in her hair.  "Leave Jigger to me," he murmurs.  "Serves the bastard right, anyway."

"What do you mean?"

"He gets far more out of me than he pays for," he grumbles.

She twists in his arms.  "Don't risk your apprenticeship, Sev.  If Jigger disowns you-"

"If Jigger disowns me, I'll find a new Master.  He's hardly got a monopoly on Potions apprenticeships."

"If Jigger disowns you, you won't have the reputation to find a new Master.  Once is a mistake, but twice…"

"Lil-"

"I'm just saying, Sluggy won't be able to pull you out of a tight spot again."  She kisses him firmly.  "Don't go out tomorrow.  Mummy and Daddy haven't seen you for ages."

He shakes his head.  "I'm brassic.   _We're_ brassic.  I told you, if I don't sell those potions-"

"I'll get the money."

"We're not taking more off your father."  The small frown on his forehead deepens.  "And you're not whoring yourself out down Knockturn."

"Sev!"

He gives her a knowing look.

"I wasn't-" She pushes him in the chest.  "You _know_ that wasn't what was happening."

"I know that if I hadn't come down there, that's what would've happened."  She opens her mouth to protest, but he grabs both of her wrists in his larger hand.  "You didn't go there for that, but that doesn't mean that you wouldn't have been taken advantage of.  You don't know what they're like."

"I know exactly what your old housemates are like, thank you very much."  She prods him in the chest again.  "I suppose I should be glad you're just a dealer, and not a Death Eater."


	2. Boy's wary enough

He glances over his shoulder and sidles his way to the edge of the dancefloor.  His target is young and slim, and her face is covered in sweat.  She spots him and smiles, her hot hands looping around his neck, and her body swaying to the music.  "Hi."

"Hi," he says, stiffly.  "Fletch sent me."

She looks over his shoulder at the short squat wizard who is leaning against a wall and smoking a pipe.  He nods towards her, and she nods back, and then she returns her focus to Severus.

"Well?" he asks, impatiently.  "Up or down?"

"What's cheapest?"

He sneers.  "Cheap is behind the bar.  House spirits should see you through."

She holds onto him tightly as he moves to leave.  "Don't be like that."

"Quality costs."

"What are we talking?"

He clucks his tongue impatiently.  "Uppers or downers?"  She rolls her eyes to the top of her head, and he nods imperceptibly.  "A galleon."

"Ten sickles."

At this, he wrests her arms from around his neck.  He glances back and forth, his heart beating wildly in his chest.  "I know a set up when I see one."  With a quick swirl of robes, he Disapparates.

She looks over at Mundungus, who shakes his head and scurries towards her.  "What d'yer do that for, eh?  Boy's wary enough, without you putting the frighteners on him."

"I was only bartering, Dung.  Getting the best deal, like you said."

Mundungus huffs, and pulls on his pipe as he stalks away.  "Bartering!"   he grumbles to himself.  "It'll be gone two week before we see him in here again…"

* * *

"Bloody hell!  Evans?"

Potter looks much the same as he did at school – hair sticking up at all angles, and that familiar confident smirk plastered across his face.  He covers his surprise with radiance, reminding her of what it was like to walk into the Gryffindor common room whilst he was lounging in one of the prime seats, his wolf-whistle following her all the way to her room.  Behind him, Pettigrew's jaw has dropped, Lupin's eyes have widened, and Black is staring at her with what could only be described as pure loathing.

"Boys," she says, her tone wary, cautious of their mixed reaction.  She glances at the older Order members on the other side of the long table – Doge, Longbottom, the Prewett brothers, and Dumbledore himself.

"I'm out," announces Black, pushing his chair away and moving to stand.

"Pads," Potter says placatingly, his hand reaching to grab his friend, holding him in his spot.  "We're all friends here."

But Black doesn't spare a glance for Potter.  Instead, his eyes are boring into Lily's soul.  "You still warming his bed then, Evans?  Or is this a declaration that you've finally come to your senses?"

Lily unconsciously touches the chain at her neck, the pendant hidden deep below her robes.  "Severus and I are still a couple," she confirms, her voice wavering slightly in face of his fury.  She's annoyed with herself; she goes through the same each time she sees Petunia – that same look of dismay and betrayal that she has dared to settle below her station.  With _him_.

"And how is Severus?" Lupin asks, his mild tone in stark contrast to Black's open hostility.

"Fine."

"He's not with you, my dear?"

At Dumbledore's question, Black snorts in disdain.  "Snape?  Here?"

"He's busy, sir."

"Busy pledging his soul to the Dark Lo-"  

"Rather like your brother then," Gideon quips, leaning across the table, "and your father-"  

"-and your mother," adds Fabian.

"-and your cousin-"  

"-and your cousin's husband, and his brother-"  

"-and your other cousin's husband-"  

"All right, knock it off!"  

Lily suppresses a smile, as Black settles back in his chair, his arms folded tightly.  Potter claps his hand on his shoulder, but Black's scowl doesn't abate, although it's now transferred from Lily to the Prewett brothers.

"You can't repeat anything, Evans," Potter warns.  "Not outside of these four walls.  Whether he's that way or n-"  

"He isn't!"  

Potter holds his hands up in mock defence.  "I'm just saying, is all."

"We swear an allegiance," Hestia Jones says, pulling a seat out next to her and indicating that Lily should take it.

"A wand oath?"

"Not quite that serious," Doge smiles.  "As James said, we're all friends here."

* * *

It's the cut of his robes that confirms Severus has got the right man.  He always did have expensive taste.  Severus glances left, and right, and then ducks down the alley behind his quarry.  He stays a few steps behind, watching carefully as the man heads left, and left again, then right, and then huddles in a darkened doorway.

He lets out a low whistle – that same whistle the man taught him all those years ago.  Instantly, the man's hooded head lifts, and the whistle is returned.  Severus steps forward, closing the gap between them, and finds himself crushed into a tight embrace.

"All right, Malf," he laughs, taking a step back, and his cheeks colouring at the warmth of his welcome.

"Severus."  His voice is rich.  "Tell me, how is Jigger treating you?  Better than Borage, I trust?"

"Like a house elf."

Lucius chuckles, and fingers the collar of Severus' robe.  "You wear your tea-towel well."  He pauses, and then drops his grip.  "And your _Mudblood_?"  He cocks his head.  "She is well?"

Severus nods, not trusting himself to speak.

"Keeping busy, is she?"  Lucius' pale eyes lock onto Severus' dark ones, his gaze penetrating.  "Whilst you're out?"

He nods again, but Lucius' gaze doesn't falter.  After a long moment, Severus adds a little more.  "Working for her parents."

"Really?"

"Papers.  Accounts.  Correspondence."  He waves his hand.  "All rather boring."

Lucius purses his lips.  "It sounds it.  How very Muggle.  How _disappointing_."

"Disappointing?"

"I was led to believe, Severus, that despite her…unfortunate background, she was a talented witch."

"She is!"   His words of defence tumble hotly from his lips, before he can consider the consequences.

"Good.  Because I think it is time you expanded."  He waves his hand dismissively.  "I don't want you brewing party drugs any longer."

Severus twitches.  "I have clients."

"No.  You have _me_ ," Lucius hisses, his breath warm on Severus' face.  "And I do not wish for you to brew party drugs.   _She_ can brew party drugs.   _You_ are to brew-"  

They both jumped, as two cats howled at each other, paws lashing as they chased one another down the alley.  Lucius was the first to recover, smoothing his robes, and tossing his hair.  He points his wand at the younger man.  "Not here.  I'll owl you.  Burn the letter once you've read it."

* * *

It's Lupin who corners her.  She glances over his shoulder, and she can see Potter and Pettigrew pleading with Black.

"He isn't dark."

"I made no suggestion that he was," Lupin says, softly, "although it's interesting that you feel you need to pre-empt the accusation."  At her scowl, he smiles.  "And with that look on your face, I'd be tempted to ask if you were he.  Polyjuiced, of course."  He lowers his voice.  "And if anyone had the talent to pull such a feat off-"  

"I'm not Polyjuiced, you idiot," she hisses.

"But he does still brew?"

Her frown returns.  "Of course he brews.  He's apprenticing."

"Ah yes, under…" Lupin trails off suddenly.  "No, no, not Borage – he was rather publicly expelled, wasn't he-"  

"Look, Remus," she says, her voice suddenly cold.  "I am not here to discuss Severus, and I am most certainly _not_ Severus.  If you have nothing polite to-"  

Lupin takes her hand, and she stops talking.  She peers at him as he chews momentarily on his lip, and she can almost see the thoughts echoing around his mind.  "Forgive me.  I wasn't asking about his apprenticeship progress."

"No?"

"No."

Still, the air hangs heavy between them, and she shakes free of his hand.  "Was it his good health you were enquiring about, perhaps?"

"My good health, in fact."

She huffs a soft laugh, suddenly realising the turn their conversation has taken.  "No.  He wouldn't even consider it."

"I have the money."

"I can't- I _won't_ ," she hastily corrects herself, "I won't ask him.  He won't do it."

Lupin gives a tight nod of acknowledgement.  "So he doesn't know you're here, then?"

"That's not why," she tells him.

He stands for a long moment, as if willing her to change her mind.  When she doesn't speak again, he takes a step back.  "Forgive me.  But I would've always hated myself if I had not dared to ask."


	3. A factory

He's stripped back the carpet in the front room.  The sofa has moved to the wall, the sideboard has been shrunk to a fifth of its original size, and the gramophone is sat on its side in the kitchen, leaning precariously against the fridge.  The only sound she hears from it now is as it vibrates against the sheet metal whilst the fridge hums and buzzes, all of their carefully curated records long forgotten.

When she gets home, he's kneeling in the grate.  He blocked the Floo weeks ago, and now there's a permanent cauldron set up in the centre of the hearth.  There's a constant yellow flame burning brightly beneath, and a clever little timing charm to the side of it.  She can say that, because it was one of her own – she was fiercely proud of its creation during her NEWT study under Flitwick.

It chimes, and he watches intently as the flame shifts to blue, and the cauldron roars to a boil.  Ninety seconds later, the chime rings again, and the flame returns to its almost dormant form – a mild yellow flicker surrounding the bottom edge of the black pot.  He flicks his fingers, and there's a clink of glass from the kitchen – and steadily, in a neat line, the vials parade themselves through the small flat and come to rest at his boots.  He pulls on his old gloves – and she makes a mental note to buy him a new set for Christmas – and dips each vial in the cauldron in turn.  Then they're capped, wiped down, and placed carefully in a rack to his right.

"It's like a factory in here."

"The owner's a slave driver," he mumbles, his head still stuck in the hearth – and then he turns, and his crooked smile causes her breath to catch in her throat.  "You don't want to work for him, trust me."

She kneels next to him, picking one of the vials out of the rack and holding it up to the light.  The mixture is a pale green, but clear of sediment.  She remembers from her own Potions NEWT that he must've strained it thoroughly before adding the dragon's blood.  

"I know what you're thinking," he says, as he stands and heads to the kitchen.  She can hear him washing his gloves and then his hands, before he returns and hangs his gloves up by the cauldron, water dripping from the fingers into the sooty hearth.

"It looks like you've strained it," she says, peering at the mixture more closely.  "But you didn't start this until I left at midday."

"And?"

"And that means you didn't have time to bring it to the boil, add the root of aconite, sift inthe shrivelfigs, stir the dragon's blood, _and_ strain it."  She rolls the vial between her palms.  "…but it's completely clear."  

"So what does that tell you?"

"I would guess a time turner," she grins, and then waves to his makeshift potions lab.  "Only I don't see another dirty cauldron, and I _know_ that you're lazy, and you only wash your equipment after-"

"-you don't know if you'll need it again!"

"-so you did something else," she says, triumphantly.  "I don't know what though.  One of Jigger's tricks?"

He nods.  "If you add frogspawn at the simmering stage," he says, resting his hands on her shoulders as she examines his potions, "the frogs develop, consume the sediment, and then you don't need to strain the mixture.  Saves hours.  And a cauldron."

"And what of the frogs?"

He points at a wooden box underneath the window, with three wide holes in the top.  "I thought we could release them."

"In Hogsmeade?"

He laughs.  "Yeah, why not?"  He disappears into the bedroom, and then returns, their Muggle jackets bunched in his hand – and suddenly, she realises it was a joke, and he has another destination in mind.

"Cokeworth?"

"There's a river, isn't there?"

"Yes, but-"

"And I didn't see your parents last month, did I?"  He's turned away again now, and is talking to the wall rather than her.  "Thought you might want to say hello."

"And yours?"  

He pauses at her question, momentarily frozen.  She pulls on her jacket, and zips it up, and then pulls at his misshapen collar until it looks presentable.  

"I wasn't intending to."

"We can't visit mine and not yours," she reasons.

He stuffs his fists in his pockets.  "S'pose."

"Come on then," she says, linking her arm through his – and the two set off out of the door, and down the steps.  A moment later, his boots thud back up the stairs, and he grabs the forgotten box, and the contents croak their protest loudly as he tucks it tightly under his arm.

* * *

She's outside in the yard. The wind is blistering, and the rain is sideways.  She pulls the pegs off the clothes, and dumps it all – peg bag, pegs, and damp clothes – into the wash basket.  He jumps out of the way as she hurls the broken plastic basket into the kitchen, and he can see how the basket was broken in the first place.  He peers back around the corner, expecting her to be traipsing back inside, but she's still stood in that tiny paved yard, her fluff lined slippers turning into a soggy mush.

"Mam?"

She turns her back on him, plucking a cigarette from behind her ear, and he knows she's fumbling in that tatty frayed apron pocket for a light.

"Here y'are," he says, stepping forward, flicking his wand.  The end of the cigarette catches, and she inhales deeply – and then, she holds it out for him to take a drag.  "Nah," he says.  "I don't smoke."

Her eyes narrow.  "Since when?"

He jerks his head towards the living room.  "Since, y'know."  He doesn't need to say any more.  His mother's face hardens, and she wraps her lips back around the cigarette.  "Yer not comin' back in?"

"Don't think you have to talk like that because _he's_ here."  She practically spits the words.  "I know you put on your airs and graces when you're over at-"

"-don't, Mam," he says, quickly.

"You're going there next, aren't you?"  At her enquiry, he nods, stiffly, and her eyes gleam with triumph, and her next accusation is sharper still.  "Here for a cup of tea, and there for what?  Candlelight supper?"

"Mam-"

She sniffs, and draws over and over on the cigarette until it's nothing but a filter.  She stubs it out against the wall and flicks it into the grate.

"Used to tell me off for doin' that."

"Used to do a lot of things once upon a time."

"We goin' back in?"

"Are you happy, Severus?"

He's already turned to head indoors, and her question catches him off guard.  He pauses, and then glances back.  "It's different."

"Different."  It's not a challenge.  She nods.  "Cokeworth was…different.  To me. Back then."

"I can imagine."

"And now you make the same journey in reverse."  She lifts the line prop and rests it by the outhouse, and then ushers him indoors.  "I wonder if your child will follow suit, and follow me back?"

She pushes past him then, her narrow hips bumping angrily into his thigh, and whilst he fumbles with the lock at the back door, she's banging the teapot and clinking a spoon in the mugs.  When he looks over his shoulder, he can only see two on the worktop – Tobias' and her own.

"We'll be off then, eh, Mam?"

"Say goodbye to your father-"

"Give me chance!"  He sticks his head into the living room.  Lily is perched on the sofa, pretending to politely listen to the football match that Tobias is engrossed in He thumps his chair at the commentary, and misses Lily standing up and making her excuses from the room.  Severus grabs her hand as she passes, "Say goodbye to Mam," he hisses, pushing her towards the kitchen and then he slides around the living room door.  "I'm off now, Da?"

"If yer like."

"Right."  He stalls for a long moment, his mouth opening as if to say something more, but Tobias has closed his eyes, entirely focused on the football.  He can hear Lily's fake platitudes getting louder, as if she's moving away from the kitchen, so before he can mull it over further, he digs his hand into his back pocket, and pulls out his wallet.  He flicks through the notes, counting them quickly, and then stuffs a wad behind the carriage clock on the fireplace before beating a hasty retreat.

"Russ?"

He stops, his hands clutching the doorframe, and tips his head back towards his father.  "Aye?"

"Good lad."


	4. Undesirable political allegiances

It's warmer at the Evans house, and Severus copies Lily in shrugging off his jacket and hanging it over the newel post.  He tugs anxiously at his collar; his mother was right – the removal of their outdoor clothing is a declaration that they're staying, and not merely popping in out of polite courtesy.  He stands awkwardly in the hall as his girlfriend is smothered in her mother's embrace, flushing slightly when Rose opens her arms to him.

"Errr," he stalls, unmoving.

"Oh, leave the boy be, Rose," David admonishes, clapping a firm hand on Severus' shoulder and steering him towards a chintz covered chair in the living room, whilst both women head towards the kitchen.

"Should I help wi-" he starts to offer.

"Sit," comes the command, and Severus does.  "They'll be talking about…" David trails off and shrugs, realising he doesn't actually know what his wife and youngest daughter will be conversing about.  "…they'll be happy talking to each other, put it that way."

He nods, his fingers twining anxiously, and when he catches David's quelling gaze, he stuffs them in his trouser pockets.

"Smoking?"

"I don't."

"No?"  

He hates this.  David's known him since he was a runt of a boy, and Severus always seems to revert to type around him – awkward, flushing, nervous.   _Unworthy_.  He takes his fingers back out of his pockets and holds them up.  "Potions stain," he says, by way of explanation.  "It's not nicotine."

David sniffs pointedly.

"And I've just been talking to my mam," he adds.  "She was… I mean… She does.  Still.  Outside, like, not indoors.  Not near Lily.  And I didn't.  …it's not, it's not my smoke."

"Right."

It's uncomfortable again.  David flicks on the television – _Songs of Praise_ , what else?  It is Sunday, after all.  David rustles a newspaper, idly flipping the pages over, and Severus stares at the television, the lyrics of the hymns going in one ear and out of the other.  It reminds him too much of the other side of the river – of weekly church visits, starched collars, copper coins for the collection and-

"She's not got them."  He's pulled out of his thoughts at David's statement.  The newspaper has been lowered.

"Sorry?"

"The stains," David says, wriggling his fingers.  "Lils.  She's not got them."  His eyes narrow.  "I thought she was doing the same as you?"

 _This_ is why he doesn't like visiting Cokeworth.  Spinner's End is one thing, with its misery seeping through the walls, but the expectation on this side of the river is stifling in its own way.  He can't quite remember the web of lies that Lily's fed to her parents; it doesn't help that he's not always present to witness what she says.

"That's why she left the Ministry, didn't she?"  David's not letting it drop.

Severus exhales in a loud huff.  "Yeah.  Well, she's a bit behind me-"  David's eyes narrow again at the perceived slight, and Severus races to continue, "-with the late start and all that.  So she's got all the theoretical to catch up on before she can brew."

"It's not a sexism thing, is it?  You can brew, and she can't?"

"No."

"Does it pay well, then?  This Potions malarkey?"  

He shakes his head, and then he catches David's meaning.  "I mean, yeah.  Eventually.  Not apprenticing though.  Apprenticing is…"

"Tough, I imagine?"

He scratches his ear self-consciously.  "We're all right.  I work at the pub as well – the Broomsticks – a few shifts at night.  Keeps the wolf from the door."

"And Lily?  Does she work in the evenings too?  At this… _pub_?"

"No!  I'd never-" he starts, hotly, and then stops, David's fierce glare reminding him of his place.  "She doesn't need to.   _I_ take care of us.  Both of us."

"Good."  David reaches for the remote, and turns the television up.

* * *

"What did you say to him?" she asks, twirling spaghetti around her fork.

"Nothing."

"About my apprenticeship," she presses.  "So I can keep the story straight."

"He noticed your fingers."  He pushes his plate away, and leans back on the chair.  "Mine are stained and scorched, and yours-"

"Good point.  I'll have to do some brewing before I visit again."  

"I told him you had to do paperwork before you're allowed to brew."  

"Anything else?"

He shrugs.  "He wants to know how much money we're making."

"Oh," she says, resting her fork on the side of her plate, "that reminds me."  She digs in her handbag, and pulls out a thick envelope.

"Lil, no."

"Yes," she argues, placing the money on the table between them.  "He doesn't want me working in a pub-"

"You don't!"  

"He knows that," she says, her expression cold.  "But he didn't think it was fair that you were working all hours, and I wasn't pulling my weight."

"I never said you weren't pulling your weight."  His foot taps loudly on the floor in irritation.

"Don't be impossible, Sev," she says, picking his plate up with her own and putting them in the sink.  "Ever since the Ministry passed that law-"

"I never said it was your fault!  It's just how it is at the moment."

"At the moment?"  She stays by the sink but turns back to catch his gaze.  "You think it'll change?"

And now he looks guilty, his hands once again shoved deep into his pockets.  The silence lies thick and heavy between them.

* * *

She sterilises the dining table, and lays out her equipment methodically – silver knife, glass chopping board, stainless steel bowl, granite mortar and pestle.  The tall kitchen cupboard used to house their ironing board, but he broke the board down and took it to the tip.   _"Who irons robes anyway, Lil?"_ Now, the ceiling to floor cupboard is full of shelves, each lined with neatly labelled glass jars.  

She double checks his tight scrawl, and then collects the ingredients, walking back and forth from cupboard to table.  She daren't take more than one a time, lest she drop a jar, its precious contents not easily replaced.  Her finger slides down the list once more, triple checking that everything is in its rightful place before she begins; brewing in their flat isn't like brewing in a lab – there's not enough space to make mistakes or start again, or even to go rummaging in cupboards for forgotten ingredients.  She rolls her robes up to her elbows, pinning the sleeves in place with a modified sticking charm, casts her wand at the fireplace to set the cauldron to heat up, and sets to work.

* * *

"Well?"  

She watches as he flips the cork from the top of a vial, and presses his finger across the mouth of the glass.  He tips the whole potion over, coating his finger, and then back again.  Looking her in the eye, he darts his tongue across the pad of his wet fingertip and then his shoulders relax, and something akin to pleasure flashes in the depths of his eyes.  "Bloody brilliant," he says, admiringly.

She looks a little abashed.  "It's not that good.  I know you can produce these in your sleep."

"You haven't brewed since school," he says, hastily sliding the perfect potions into his robes, "and these are as pure as anything I'd do myself."  He leans over and kisses her, and she can taste the wicked salty potion on his tongue.

"Aren't you staying in for tea?"

"Ros wants me in early," he says, sounding genuinely apologetic.  He kisses her again.  "And then I need to circulate these."  He shakes his robe, causing her potions to clink against one another, and then he casts a muffling charm to silence them.  "Don't wait up."

Eating alone isn't fun.  It's even less fun now that their homely flat has transitioned into an illegal lab, and the pleasure of the afternoon's brewing soon disappears as she sits amongst the bottles and tubes and cauldrons.  She washes her single plate, and her single mug, and then – decisively – heads to the bathroom to shower, to wash off the residue of brewing.  She dresses, spritzes herself liberally with perfume, and heads into Hogsmeade.

* * *

She never liked the Hog's, but she could hardly turn up unannounced at the Broomsticks with her boyfriend sweeping the floors and pulling pints.  She orders a firewhisky from the bar; a butterbeer would be laughably out of place, and seats herself in a dark corner.  The tang of the liquid is bitter against her tongue, and warm in her throat – and it's gone before she's really paid any attention to the taste.

"Another?"

 _Table service?_ she thinks.  They don't advertise their relationship, the Dumbledore brothers, but this man towering above her is so clearly related to the great Headmaster of Hogwarts.  She fumbles in her pocket for the correct coins, and he waits, his hand outstretched.  Then he's at the bar, and back, and the fresh glass he gives her is anything but.  Most off-putting of all, it has a smudge of old lipstick on the rim.  He looks at her pointedly, as if daring her to comment – but all she can think is that they need a washing up boy, like Severus is for Ros at the Broomsticks.  "If it's not good enough for you, miss-"

"I could help."  

His eyebrow quirks.

She powers on before he can dismiss her.  "Washing glasses.  Sweeping up."

"A bar girl?  Got employment papers, have you?"  Her silence tells him all he needs to know.  "It's not me," he says, quietly but firmly.  "I have no such prejudices.  But the Ministry…"

"You don't need to tell me about the Ministry."  And the drink is gone.  Downed.  It doesn't touch the sides.  "Another."

He places a hand on her wrist.  "You've had enough."

"I'm not asking."

At this, he smiles, his lips almost entirely covered by thick beard.  "Well, I know you're not demanding," he warns, softly, "because as proprietor of this fine establishment, I have the right to refuse service."

"To _Mudbloods_?" she spits.

"To anyone!" he hisses, grabbing her arm and pulling her roughly into the corridor leading to the toilets.  "And this sort of behaviour will get you noticed."

She bristles, pulling her robes around her.  "I already am noticed."

Aberforth clucks his tongue sympathetically.  "Purged?"

"Yes."

"Did they tell you why?"  He catches her exasperated look, and tuts.  "No, I know _that_ ," he says.  "We both know the real reason.  But what did they tell you?"

"Undesirable political allegiances."

He appraises her.  "You're in that group of my brother's, aren't you?"

"No."  She quails under his firm gaze.  "Well, yes.   _Now_ ," she admits, as he tuts loudly, "but not then.  They had nothing on me then."

"Why tonight?"  

His change in topic causes her to pause.  

"Here.  Why tonight?" he presses.  

She still doesn't answer, and annoyance flits across his face.  

"Nobody aligned to that group of miscreants associates in my pub," he explains.  "This place is full of dark wizards, dangerous creatures, and anyone looking for a way to forget.  And that's not you.  You belong at Ros' place, with the rest of the kids."  He pauses, staring at her thoughtfully.  "So?  How did you come to darken my door?"

"…my boyfriend works at the Broomsticks."

"Thin lad?  Greasy hair?  Funny crooked teeth?"  He gives her the once over, and exhales impatiently.  "I take it he's got hidden attributes?"

His needless attack on her boyfriend stirs her indignation.  "I think our conversation, Mr Dumbledore," she starts, angrily, "is over."

"On the contrary, whoever you are, miss, I think we've just started to solve your little mystery." 

"Oh?"

"Oh yes.  You clearly do have undesirable political allegiances."

"I told you, the Order-"

"-not my brother.  For once."  Aberforth leans in a little closer.  "But your very own young man."


	5. Not the enemy

He doesn't answer her straight away.  He continues with his task – quill scratching over parchment – but she can see that a dark splotch of ink has pooled higher up the page, matching perfectly with when she asked her question.  When he reaches the bottom of the parchment, he rests his quill on the table, steeples his fingers before his lips, and eyes her suspiciously.  "What's brought this on?"

She picks up his wallet and opens it, fanning out the notes inside.  "There's not enough here."

At this, he sits back.  His lips twist in annoyance, and he scratches his eyebrow.  "Not all of our money is kept in my wallet."

"Gringotts?"

He shrugs.  "Gringotts, sure."  He points at the kitchen, and she knows he's motioning towards the tall cupboard.  "Ingredients."  And then he points at the cauldrons – pewter, iron, brass, copper – stacked in the corner.  "Equipment."  Finally, he strides to the edge of the room, and jams his wand into the crack between the floorboards.

"You don't need-"

But he's already lifted it, and below, she can see a collection of their potions nestled between the joists, their contents twinkling and flashing in the light.  He sits back on his heels, flicking his greasy hair from his eyes.  "Stock."  He holds his hand out, waiting for her to return his wallet to him – and she slaps it into his palm more forcefully than she intended.  In response, he angrily flicks his wand at the floorboard, which slides smoothly back into place, and he stands before her, his head inclined to the side as he appraises her.  "Are you hungry?"

Her eyes narrow.  She doesn't understand the question.  "No."

"Cold?"

"…no."

"In need of shelter, or clothing?  Sickening for something?"

"Sev-"

"Do I not keep you in a fashion that is acceptable to-"

"I don't want to be kept!" she yells, and her anger at his patronising tone causes the ends of her hair to spark.

"We have no choice!" he yells back, grabbing her fists in his hands.  

She sees it then, that flicker of anguish and concern that he ordinarily keeps so well hidden.  She bites back her retort; she wants to scream that they always have a choice – but she knows it isn't true.  Not at the moment.  Choices are for Purebloods – for the likes of James Potter, or Sirius Black, or Lucius Malfoy.  Choices aren't for poor Halfbloods, or middle class Muggleborns.  She swallows it all – her anger, her pride, her self-esteem – and she forces her hands to relax under his touch.  

He feels the change – her fists unclenching – and he tangles his fingers in hers.  "I didn't mean to shout."

"It's okay," she says, although they both know it isn't.   _But that's the point_ , she thinks, as she looks at him – his face gaunt, and his eyelashes long and dark against his pale skin.   _As long as we both know that this isn't okay.  As long as we're still in this together_.

"What made you ask?" he says, his voice a little higher than usual.  

It must be bothering him.  He's an odd man, her boyfriend – he'll needle and jibe and provoke, and he'll never back down from an argument, but as soon as the matter's closed, he's never one to open it back up.   _Don't pick a wound,_ he once told her.   _If it's scabbing, leave it be_.  She wonders what's caused his change of heart – wonders if it's obvious that this query isn't going to scab on its own, and will fester if ignored.

"I'm brewing."

He doesn't get it.  She can see from the confusion flitting across his face that he hasn't made the connection, and she sighs.  He stops her from turning away, and grips her a little too tightly.  "No, Lil, tell me."

"Before," she says, "you were brewing."

"What's your point?"

"My point is, you're with Jigger during the day, and you work in the Broomsticks in the evening.  At night, you trawl half of Hogsmeade, flogging our illicit potions-"

"And?"

"And," she says, pointedly, "you used to brew.  You were always bringing spare potions home from your day in Jigger's lab."  She fixes him with a firm glare.  "Now _I'm_ brewing."

"You're hardly doing anything else," he retorts, acidly.

"I can't do anything else, can I?  The bloody Ministry won't let me!"  Her voice is louder now, and she winces as she sees his face harden.  "No, Sev, listen-"  She grabs his hands tightly again, squeezing them.  "What I'm saying is, you used to do the brewing.  Now I'm doing the brewing.  So what are you doing with your free time?"

His head jerks oddly.  "You think I'm cheating on you?"

"How did you get _that_ from my question?"  She drops his hands.  "My question was about money, remember?"  She can tell from his look of recognition that he's finally followed her train of thought.  "I know you, Sev.  I know that brewing is in your DNA," she continues over his loud scoff, "so I know you haven't stopped."

He runs his hands over his face.  "Lil…"

"Tell me you've stopped, then.  Severus?"  She pulls at his hands, moving them from his face.  "Tell me."  He is utterly still, and she knows she's hit a nerve, and she's not about to let the moment escape.  "So if you're still brewing, and I'm doing the brewing for your little business…" 

"Our business," he corrects.

"Fine.   _Our_ business."  She looks him dead in the eyes.  "Then what are you brewing?"

The pause is long, but eventually he answers.  "Quantity," he says, and she gives him the most sceptical scowl she can muster.  "Fine!  Look."  He marches to the other side of the flat, and taps the wall with the butt of his wand.

As the wall starts to shift, her eyes widen.  "You did this?" she says, unable to keep the impressed tone from her voice.  "It's like Diagon Al-"

"Really?" he drawls, "You don't say?"

She elbows him firmly in the side.  "You're such a git."

"Shhh," he says, looping his arm around her shoulder.  The pair watch as the wall shimmers and then reveals an even larger array of potions.  The bottles are four or five deep on the shelves, and the shelves stretch from wall to wall, floor to ceiling.

"You weren't joking," she says, reaching her hand out to stroke the glass vials, recognising the same illegal party potions as the ones she brews herself.  And now she looks at him with real fear in her eyes.  "If we're caught-"

"We're not going to get caught."

"-but this," she says, waving her hand.  "The scale of this.  I mean…those," and she points at the floor, "we could argue plausible deniability."

"Plausible?  Really?"

"Personal use, or something, but this…" She looks back at the wall of potions.  "This is industrial."

"I wouldn't call it industrial."

"No?  What would you call it then?"  

With a swift wave of his wand, he restores the wall to its usual state, hideous wallpaper and all.  "I call it our insurance policy."  And then he smiles – it's confident, and smug, and she can see the elation in his eyes.  

She doesn't know who he thinks he's pulled one over on, but she throws her arms around his neck, trusting him to take her with him.

* * *

She groans, and stretches beneath the warm duvet.  Her muscles feel tight, and she rubs at her neck before squinting across the room.  Her eyelids feel heavy, but she doesn't succumb to sleep – instead, she watches as he silently moves around the room, adding layer upon layer of black cloth until nearly all of his pale skin is covered.  She squints harder, peering at his face, and she can see that he's clean shaven – and now he's leaning towards the mirror, checking that he hasn't missed a patch.  

"You look fine," comes her murmured reassurance.  

He spins – the layers of black seemingly pausing in the air – and faces her, an embarrassed flush sweeping across his cheeks.  "I thought you were sleeping."  He takes a step, and then another, and then leans over the bed and kisses her forehead.  "Sorry."

Her hand grasps at the front of his robes, and she pulls him down another inch or so, pushing her lips against his own.  "Sorry for what?" she asks.  "You didn't wake me."  They kiss again, over and over, until eventually he pulls back.  She touches his face before sliding her hands back under the warmth of the covers.  "You're not quite looking your best though."

"Really?"  He straightens, and strokes his fingertips through his hair.  "I thought-"

"I prefer you with fewer clothes," she teases, and there's a glint in her eyes that makes him flush even harder.  "You look even better naked."

He coughs awkwardly, and she knows she's really embarrassed him.  "Yeah, right.  I think Jigger would have something to say if I turned up starkers."

"Something about taking care near a flame?"

But he ignores her joke.  It's as if the mention of his Master causes a Pavlovian response; he glances at the clock, and sets to neatening his sleeves.  "Eat something tonight," he says.  "Don't wait for me.  I've got work, and…" He momentarily trails off whilst he concentrates on the clasp at his cuff, "…I don't know when I'll be back."

"Right," she says, pulling the covers that bit tighter, trying not to let his words bother her.  When she speaks, she forces her tone to be lighter than she feels.  "I'll be calling Ros out for a duel soon."

His eyebrows lift a fraction, and then he gives a soft laugh, and bends back down to kiss her.  "I'm really not worth it, love, believe you me."

* * *

"Evans," says Lupin, as she enters the darkened room.  There's only one seat free, and it's next to him.  He pats it.  "Come on, I don't bite."

She looks past him – and she spies Black, who is still scowling at her – but a quick glance around the room shows that there's nowhere else to sit.  This room is smaller than the last, and it's darker, and smells a little odd – but she tries not to wrinkle her nose; you never quite know who owns the house, or who rented the room, and she doesn't want to needlessly offend.

"So," Emmeline Vance says, tapping her glass with her quill to silence the room.  "As we're all here, shall we call this meeting formally to order?"

"Aye," comes the chorus, and Lily checks the faces of the group – to her surprise Hagrid is in attendance, standing in the corner, as well as Diggle and Bones and Meadowes.  The Prewett boys are missing, she notes, and Benjy Fenwick – but there's a weathered face she doesn't know.  She meets the stranger's gaze, and he shuffles his way through the pack until he's stood behind her chair.

"Alastor Moody," he mutters, as Emmeline starts giving a rundown of the last meeting.  "Auror.  You're Lily Evans."

She nods, although his words felt like a statement instead of a query awaiting confirmation.  "Pleased to meet you, Mr Moody."

"Young Black says you're sleeping with the enemy."

"I didn't!" Black loudly protests, and the chatter of the room falls silent.  "I didn't, Moody."

"You did," chips in Pettigrew, and receives a thump on each arm – one from Potter, and one from Black – for his efforts.

"My boyfriend," she says, loudly and pointedly – and to her delight she notes Potter wincing at her words.  Not for the first time, she's disappointed her attendance is a secret from Severus, because she knows he would get a kick out of Potter's obvious dismay at their continued relationship.  The room falls quiet, and she continues in the same tone, "is not the enemy."  She stares evenly around the room, taking in each of the Order.  "He is simply not interested in politics."

"Not interested in politics?"  Diggle looks astonished.  "In this day and age, with all that's…" He shakes his head and looks towards Dumbledore.  "Not interested in politics!  And you say he's one of your lot, Dumbledore?"

"Unfortunately," Dumbledore says, stepping forward from the shadows, "Lily's…partner, shall we say, was a member of Slytherin house-"  

The muttering now is louder, whispers and grumbles echoing around the space. 

"Ah, ah, ah," Dumbledore says, clapping his hands and waiting for silence to fall once more.  "As I was saying, Slytherin house poses a few difficulties-"

"On account of it being full of dark wizards and wannabe Death Eaters," Potter huffs, earning him a round of triumphant applause from Black, and a sharp look to the pair from Dumbledore.

"Mr Potter's account is not quite accurate," Dumbledore cautions.  "As you well know, Alastor, Slytherin house is not a lost cause."

"Ninety percent of it is," grumbles Moody.  "Why's this girl any different?"

"I'm a Gryffindor!"

Moody gives a half smile at her outburst.  "So has become apparent."

"And I'm a Muggleborn.  And Severus might've been a Slytherin, but his father…"

Black suddenly peers at her, his eyes narrowed in interest.  She swallows hard, knowing that if word gets back to him, Severus is hardly likely to thank her – but the room is staring, waiting for her to speak, and the words tumble out before she can stop them, "...his father is a Muggle."

"Bloody hell," says Pettigrew, looking down.  "I thought he was a Purebl-"

"Nah," says Potter, dismissively.  "I knew he wasn't Pure."

Black looks surprised.  "Yeah, but I thought he was at least Half."

"He is Half," Lupin reasons.  He looks at Lily.  "You didn't say his mother was a Muggle, did you?"

"I'm the Muggleborn. He's Half.  His mother is Pure."  She twists her hands.  "We grew up in the same town."

"A Pure witch?  Married to a Muggle?  In a Muggle town?"  Pettigrew looks bewildered, but before he can continue his thought, Moody interrupts loudly.

"Good!  The boy is a runt!"

"Alastor!"

"Why didn't you say, Dumbledore?  That's exactly the sort of thing I wanted to hear.  If he was a Muggle tainted outcast in Slytherin, then he's not going to rat us out, is he?"

"He couldn't even if he wanted," she says, her voice laced with anger at the way his parentage is being spoken of.  "I don't tell him anything of these meetings."

"Good girl," Moody says, clapping a hand to her shoulder.  "Even better."  

Lily nods tightly, and is relieved when the conversation moves on, a strange thrum of guilt unsettling her stomach.   _It's not a betrayal_ , she reasons with herself, but when she catches Potter's half-amused glance, she can't help but feel that it is.


	6. Perfectly balanced eco-system

Following an Order meeting a few weeks later, there's a short wizard waiting in the street.  She wraps her robe tightly around her and crosses the road, but he follows her.  She crosses back, and so does he – so she slides her wand into her hand, and prepares to defend herself.

"Miss Evans, is it?" comes his oily voice, and she slides her wand back out of view, although still within easy reach.

"It depends who's asking."

"Good answer, miss, good answer," says the wizard, trotting up behind her, and offering her his grubby hand to shake.  When she doesn't take it, he looks at it and shrugs.  "Fair decision," he admits, sniffing it and then recoiling.  "Can't remember when I last gave it a wash.  I've been ducking and diving a bit today, you know how it is."

She sneers, as if to suggest that she doesn't.  She doesn't really want to have this conversation with this dirty man, but glancing behind her, she can see no trace of the rest of the Order, such is the way that they disband following a gathering.

"Now now," he continues, "there's nothing to be concerned about.  I am," and he lowers his voice, "one of your lot, so to speak."  

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean."

He frowns, and steps back, puffing his chest out and pointing at the building that she just came out of.  "One of you-"  And then he catches himself, suddenly realising.  "Ah, yes, miss, I must apologise – very reckless and silly of me.  I'm Mundungus Fletcher," he says, pulling his dirty pipe from his sleeve and starting to pack it with tobacco from his pocket.  "Missed a few meetings here and there, but I'm fully paid up, fully committed – you just ask Dumbledore himself!"  He glances around, and then pulls on her sleeve, walking her a few steps down the street.  "Now, I want to talk to you, but I can see that you might want to verify my identity."  

"It is hardly unreasonable of me.  In times such as these."

"Yes, yes."  He presses down firmly on the tobacco and then strikes a light with his wand, before puffing away on the pipe to cause the leaves to catch.  "During the next meeting, perhaps?"  And then he leans in, his breath hot and smoky, "and bring some of your fella's wares with you.  He's gone a bit tight on me these last few weeks, and it's a real pity - business should be booming."

* * *

Lucius leans back in the oversized chair, tapping his fingers on the arm.  "I thought I told you to be careful."

"I am careful."

"Not careful enough," Lucius snaps.  "You're being greedy."

"I'm not-"

Lucius fixes him with a quelling look.  "You _are_ greedy," he reiterates.  "And if you don't pull your production back to a reasonable rate, I won't be able to help you if things get a little…messy."

Severus pulls out a roll of parchment from his robes, and tosses it across the desk.  "See for yourself."  As Lucius casts his eye over the figures, Severus waits quietly.

"I see."  Lucius places the papers to one side.  "If your ledger is accurate-"

"-of course it's accurate!"

Lucius continues, as if Severus hasn't spoken, "-then we have a bigger problem."  He pauses, and then yanks open his desk drawer.  "Competition."

Severus can feel his heart pounding in his chest.  "Competition?"  The words fade on his lips as Lucius pulls out two vials – both pale blue, both with a rainbow streak threading through the centre.  Instantly, Severus can tell the difference; his is on the right – the rainbow a neat and tidy twist – whilst the one on the left has its rainbow in a graceful looping bow.

"Any difference?" Lucius queries, pushing the vials towards Severus.  "Apart from the visual, of course."  He points to the rainbow threads.  "Subtle, and easily missed, but when you peer closely…"

Severus' palms are sweating now, and he casts to suspend both potions in the air.  He takes his own and uncorks it, and then sniffs – it smells as fresh as when he first brewed it – like an urban Muggle summer.  It's petrol and cut grass and orange juice, mixed with vanilla ice-cream and hot tarmac.  It's a joyful attack on the senses, and for Severus, it's like being transported back to Cokeworth in the summer holidays.  Then, he uncaps the other, and inhales – and it's exactly the same.

"Well?"

Severus jerks his head.  "May I?"

Lucius waves his hands, and two glasses spin across the room and into his palms.  He sets them on the desk before Severus.  "Be my guest."

He pours a tiny amount from the left potion into the left glass, and the right potion to the right.  The rainbows in the vials twist and spin, and his potion's rainbow remains in the tight twist, whilst the other rainbow twirls and spins and then loops itself into a differently angled bow.

"Interesting," says Lucius, leaning forward.  "This," he says, pointing at the twisted potion, "I recognise.  It is yours, is it not?"

Severus nods tightly.  And then he gulps each potion down, one after the other – and the assault on his mind is instantaneous.  Lights flash, and his blood pounds, and the feeling of euphoria shoots through his veins.  He can't keep his grin from spreading, and a happy laugh erupts before he can stop it.  He can see Lucius' unamused look, and yet the more he tries to suppress his glee, the louder the laugh becomes.  He grips the edge of the desk, and laughs, and laughs, and laughs, and there's tears running down his cheeks, and then, just as suddenly as it started, he stops.

"Pulled ourselves together, have we?"  Lucius tries to sound unimpressed, but Severus knows him – and he knows that behind those pale grey eyes, Lucius found the display far more amusing than he'd ever let on.

"Sorry, Malf."

"And the difference?"

"No difference in the effect," he says.

Lucius tuts loudly.  "But it is a different potion, is it not?"  He taps the vial containing the imposter.  "This is not yours, is it?"

Severus doesn't know what to say.  He can't believe that something so ridiculous has caught them out – how did he fail to spot that Lily's rainbow knot was different to his own?  The more he stares at it, the more he can see it; feminine, gentle, graceful.  

"Tell me, Severus, did you learn this under Jigger, or under Borage?"

And now the questioning is getting away from him – the longer this goes on; the more that he doesn't answer truthfully, the worse it will be.  

"Severus?"

"It's Lily's," he admits, the words feeling as if they're being wrenched from his chest.  He sees Lucius' eyebrows lift in amazement, and he sucks in a deep breath.  "You told me to get her to brew.  She has."

Lucius gives the smallest of smiles, his teeth almost bared.  "Indeed I did."  He peers at her potion.  "It's obvious now that you say," and he taps the vial, "this is far too dainty to be the work of a male brewer."

Severus bristles.  "I can do dainty-"

"Hush!  I'm thinking…" And he is, his hands tapping on the desk, and then – with a sudden movement – the glasses and the vials are all cast into the fireplace, where they smash loudly, and the remaining contents splash up against the hollow of the chimney.  "The problem, Severus, is not that she has brewed, but-"

"You told me!"

"Hush!"  Lucius is glaring at him now, his lips thin in tight fury.  "The _problem_ , Severus, is that you had not seen this before."  He stared at the younger man, his face impassive.  "The _problem_ , Severus, is that you are the man who sells these potions.  So, Severus, if you have not seen this deviation in the rainbow before tonight, then you are not selling your lady's wares, are you?"

"I-"

"Get out of my sight!"

"But Malf-"

"Out, Severus, before I have you escorted from the grounds."

Severus leaps up from his chair, grabs his robe and scrunches it in his fist.  "I was only going to say…" Lucius has closed his eyes, and Severus pauses, waiting to see if he's going to listen, or if the elves are going to be called – and when the older man doesn't react, he blurts the words out.  "She sold some in a Muggle nightclub we used to go to, back when we were kids.  We went back for our anniversary, and someone saw us taking them, and we offloaded some…" He trails off, watching Lucius intently for any change in demeanour, and hoping that the lie is convincing.  "Look, I'm sorry.  I didn't think they'd get back to the magical world, and I didn't thi-"

Lucius doesn't open his eyes, but his words are even.  "You're right.  You didn't think, Severus.  It's as simple as that."

"I'm sorry."

"It's a perfectly balanced eco-system," he intones.  "Supply and demand, and we control the supply.  And now this someone in the Muggle world is flooding the market.  They're not consuming them, oh no – they're taking _my_ goods, from _my_ brewers, and selling them in _my_ marketplace."  Suddenly, his eyes shoot open.  "I don't like this, Severus.  I don't like this at all.  Something smells."  He stands, and he moves with such speed across the room, Severus finds himself taking a step back.  "If I get to the bottom of this, and I find you've been lying to me-"  

"I'm not!"

"If you are," he drops his voice to a hiss, "then Merlin help both you _and_ that Mudblood that warms your bed."

Severus can feel the blood pounding in his ears, and he nods.  "Yes, Malf."

And then, as quickly as his sour mood first appeared, Lucius claps his hands and smiles.  "But, my word, she's an efficient study, isn't she?"

"Malf?"

"I sampled the potions."  Lucius was gazing at him now, with a curious expression on his face.  " _Identical_ ," he murmured.  "Actually identical.  And I've taken a few of those Rain Away potions in my time."  At Severus' surprised look, he laughs.  "I wasn't always the married stick-in-the-mud that I am now, you understand."  

"I wouldn't say-"

"Don't grovel, Severus, it's beneath a man of your talents."  Lucius draws himself up.  "As I was saying, I have taken a few in my time, and there's always the maker's mark on the potion – a subtle difference in the aroma.  But yours and hers?  Identical."

"It's the same summer day."

"Hmm?"

"Our day," Severus says, softly.  "When you brew it, you draw on a memory – and for us, it's the same day."

"Really?  How very interesting."  Lucius picks at his nails.  "I almost wish I hadn't discarded them.  Still," he grinned, that crocodile smile sending a shiver through Severus, "it seems that there's plenty out there for me to purchase and sample again if the mood so takes me, isn't that right?"

Severus doesn't know what to say to the jibe, and settles for half a nod.  "Should I be on my way?"

"Yes, I rather think you've done enough for the time being," Lucius warns.  "Although, Severus," he calls, stopping him as he reaches the door, "there is one more thing."

"Yes, Malf?"

"Destroy your stock of this.  And her stock.  I want all of it gone."

"But it takes three weeks to bre-"

" _I_ control the market, Severus, not you," Lucius warns.  "I want you to stocktake, I want you to brew downers only from this day forward – until I instruct differently – and I want every single vial of Rain Away destroyed."

"…but the ingredients, the outlay, I can't afford-"

"When I receive your owl stating that the deed is done, I will deposit some gold in your Gringotts account as recompense.  Given the circumstances, you should think yourself fortunate that I am so benevolent.  And Severus?"

"Yes, Malf?"

"Do _not_ test me on this.  Else your lovely little flat might be getting a visit from the auror department." He smiles again.  "And wouldn't that would be a shame?  Especially if your little Mudblood was flagrantly ignoring the law and brewing away…"


	7. A hierarchy

She casts their modified unlocking charm at the door, and bumps it open with her hip, her hands full of wand and takeaway.  As she expected, the flat is in complete darkness – it's half past ten, and she knows his shift at the Broomsticks doesn't finish for another hour.  She strides towards the kitchen, and casts a Lumos before putting her wand between her teeth – terrible habit – to free her hands.

Aware that the boxed food is rapidly cooling, she quickly washes her hands, grabs clean crockery and cutlery, and unceremoniously dumps the noodles from the foil tray onto the plate.  She returns her wand to her right hand, picks up the plate with the left, and heads for the table.  As she steps through into the living area – if she can even call it that these days, given that every surface is covered with brewing equipment – her Lumos casts light across the sofa and she throws her plate upwards in alarm.

His reaction is swift, so the plate doesn't fall – it's suspended between them, the food frozen at a gravity-defying angle – and she slaps her hand against her chest in horror.  

"Merlin's sake!  What are you doing, Severus?  Sitting in the dark like that!  You're meant to be at-"

"What am I to you?" he interrupts, softly – and that's when she can tell he's been drinking.  

She grabs the plate from the air and he releases the spell when her fingers make contact with the porcelain.  The sudden weight of the plate causes it to sag in her hand, and she bangs it on the table, and reaches for the lamp.  

"Don't!"

She stops, and instead she takes a step closer to him, her Lumos spell following her.  It's just enough to illuminate him, and she gasps at his appearance – he's clearly been drinking heavily, and his eyes are dark, his cheeks are sunken.  It has the unfortunate effect of making his nose seem larger than ever, and his lips are thin and pale.  She's still a metre or so from him, and she can smell him, the pungent alcohol rolling off him in waves.

"You're drunk."

"And you're a stupid bitch."

She doesn't know what to do.  She knows what she _wants_ to do – she wants to scream at him, and shout, and take her jacket and leave.  She wants to slam the door, and ring her parents, and she wants to get away from this drunken creature who is inhabiting her boyfriend's body – because this isn't Severus.  She has never seen this Severus, but she knows enough of his childhood to know that if this is anyone, this is Tobias.

There's another part of her willing her to stay – to stand her ground in her own flat, because if there's one thing that she knows about her boyfriend, it's that he isn't his father.  She stares at him, and she knows her jaw is slack in confusion, and she can't stop her eyes filling with unshed tears.  They've argued before – oh, how they've argued.  He calls it passion.   _Faking up_ , he once said.   _It's like breaking up, only you don't mean it_ _– but you still get to have great make-up sex after_.  But it's usually her that instigates their rows, and he's certainly never done anything like this before.

"You've got five minutes," she says, fighting to keep the wobble out of her voice, "to calmly explain to me what's wrong."

He looks impressed, even in his dishevelled state.  "You'd make a good auror."  He takes another slug of alcohol.  "Good cop, bad cop."  His voice has an odd sing-song quality to it, and he crosses his legs at the ankles.  "You can join them when they visit."

"I don't understand."

"When they pay us a visit."  He speaks slowly, more deliberately, as if she struggled with the words he used and not the concept.

"I know-" she snaps, and then she catches herself, digging her nails into her palms and trying to find her composure.  "I understand what an auror visit is.  I don't understand why you think they're going to come here."

"Because _someone_ ," he hisses, sitting up straighter, "has been selling illegal potions that they've brewed in this very flat.  And _someone_ – no, not me! –" he sneers, his voice dripping with disdain, "– has found out.  And now _someone_ is talking about calling the aurors."  He sits back, as if his entire speech has been an effort.  "And _I_ will go to Azkaban, and _you_ , my gorgeous, talented, wonderful witch…" He shakes his head, and he bites his lip so hard, she can see pale pink filling with red, "and _you_ – as an illegal citizen – will be Kissed."  It's as if saying it aloud has brought the reality of it home, and he slats his glass across the room.  "Fuck!   _Fuck!_ "

"Severus, I-"

He holds his hand up, squinting at her, and she can see now that his eyes are also full of unshed tears.  "Don't, Lil."

"But-"

"Just don't lie to me, for Merlin's sake, _don't_ lie."  His face twitches, as if he's struggling to hold his emotions back.  "Because I already know the truth."  He gasps a half-laugh, a strangled laugh of disbelief.  "What I don't know is _why_ you would do this to us?"

* * *

It feels like a production line, albeit in reverse.  He's crouched on the floor, pulling the vials from every nook and crevice, and she's by the sink, tipping her carefully brewed potions down the drain – until eventually he slows.  She turns and looks, and now he's lying flat on the ground, his face contorted with effort, and she can hear his hand rustling beneath the floor.

"I don't think we pushed any that far in."

He nods in agreement, and slowly raises himself up.  She's made him coffee after coffee, but the alcohol is still raging through his system, and his movements are slower – more sluggish – than usual.  "I think you're right."  He wipes his dirty hands on his trousers, and she beckons him over to the sink.  He leans heavily against the edge, and she takes his hands and carefully washes them, rubbing soap between each digit, and caressing the skin.  "You don't hav-"

"Shh," she says, and he complies – either too drunk to argue, or her soothing actions making him too relaxed to care.

* * *

"You smell better," she says, as he emerges from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, and his long hair still dripping.

"Feel like shit," he grumbles, his hangover feeling ten times worse when faced with the early morning sunlight.

"Least it's Saturday."

He grunts, and heads for their bedroom, and she glances at the disarray in the living room.  When he returns, she passes him a mug of coffee and settles next to him on the sofa.

"You don't think," she starts, trying to keep her tone casual, "that the aurors really will come?"

He sighs, and puts his mug on the floor, and pulls her into his arms.  "I think it's just a threat," he says.  He indicates at the cauldrons, and the glassware that surrounds them.  "But even so, we need to get rid of this stuff."

She looks at him critically.  "You _are_ an apprentice.  Can't you explain this all away?"

"Some, perhaps."  He scratches the furrow between his eyebrows, and she's sure it's deepened in the last twelve hours.  "But I probably need to rent lab space to make it truly believable.  It's one thing to stock a lab, but it's unorthodox to stock a flat."  

"You could say you were saving for when you got a lab?"

"It's illegal to brew at home, so if I haven't got lab space, I've got no business having six cauldrons.  One or two perhaps, but not six."  He kisses her temple.  "I'll have to sell them.  Carefully.  Without arousing suspicion."  He groans.  "Easier said than done."

She untangles herself from his arms, and heads to the kitchen.  When she returns, she's holding a jar which she passes to him.

"What's this?"  He unscrews the lid cautiously, and then his eyes widen as he sees the money.  "For the love of-"

"Use it.  Get a lab."

He's tipping the jar over, the contents spilling out onto the floor, and she can't tell if he even heard what she said.  "Lil, there's a small fortune in here!  How did…" And then he trails off, and his shoulders slump.  "Oh.  Of course."

She twists her fingers in her cardigan.  "I was saving.  To get us a bigger place.  A better place.  With a room that we could brew in, instead of this poky flat and taking up the living room and-"

He sits back on his heels, staring at the vast quantity of notes in front of him.  "No wonder he was fuming."

She kneels next to him, collecting the money together and pushing it back into the jar.  "That's the one thing you didn't tell me," she says, warily.  "Who the someone is?"  When he doesn't answer, she grabs his hand, holding it fast.  "Sev, who found us out?"

"Who found _you_ out, you mean?"

"Yes."  She squeezes his hand.  "I didn't think it would matter, a few extra potions on the market, all from the same source.  How could anyone even tell?"

He glances at her, and then looks away.  "…you can't just start selling."

"But-"

"There's rules.  A hierarchy."  He taps the glass jar, full of its contents once more.  "People have to take their cut."  And then he lifts the jar, moving it up and down as if he's weighing it.  "From this," and he laughs, " _nobody_ has been taking their cut."

It's not quite true.  Mundungus has been taking a cut – a healthy cut, as far as she could tell – but from Severus' words, and what she saw in his wallet, it's clear that Severus was making far less on each transaction than she was.  

"A cut?"  She lets the irritation cover her face.  "But we do all of the work!"  She waves at the cauldrons in the corner.  "We take all of the risk!"

"The cut minimises the risks," he says.  "My little hellcat," he grins, lifting a piece of her hair and threading it behind her ear.  "I felt the same at first, if it appeases you.  But…" He looks suddenly uncomfortable.

"What?"

"Do you remember Arisean Nott?"  She nods – the girl was a Slytherin prefect a few years ahead of them.  "Well," Severus continues, "she used to do this.  Had the market sewn up.  Competent brewer, by all accounts.  But she tried to side-step the protection, and-"

"-and now she's in Azkaban?"

"Not quite."  Severus looks troubled, and pulls on his ear.  "She lost both her hands."  

She's glad she's sitting on the floor, because a sudden surge of adrenaline shoots through her legs.  If she had been standing, she's not certain she could've stayed upright.

"Accident, of course," he adds, unconvincingly.

"Severus-"

"It's fine," he says, pulling her into his embrace.  "Don't fret. I talked our way out of it, and all I have to do now is comply."  He gives her a watery smile.  "We can keep our heads down and comply, right?"


	8. What's mine is yours

He pulls the curtains shut, and then taps the wall with the butt of his wand, watching as it transforms.  Once the action is complete, he casts once more, causing the glamour on the bottles to fall.  In a smooth movement, the rows of hundreds and hundreds of unlabelled party potions shimmer, and then transform into a wide range of different brews – each carefully dated, and every single vial marked with intricate runes.  He can feel the tension rising in his chest at his collection being exposed, and he can't help but look over his shoulder before stepping forward and running his fingertips across the glass.

 _One day_ , he thinks, _I'll have these on display_.  For now, confident that none are out of place – certain that nobody has tampered with his wares – he kneels, and on the very bottom shelf, in the right hand corner, there's a small stash of his own version of Rain Away.  He removes the vials one by one, placing them into an old shoebox.  Then he turns, and picks up his parchment, ready to resume his stocktake.  He starts to count, marking the page with dots and lines and five-bar-gates, in a system that wouldn't make sense to anyone other than himself.  

He's barely finished with the top shelf when he hears a rapid thud of footsteps on the stairs.  He casts quickly, the bottles transforming to their glamoured state before his eyes, and then the wall wobbles, shimmers, and returns to its ordinary appearance.  The front door swings open, just as he banishes the old cardboard box to the cupboard under the sink, and he yanks opens the curtains.  He turns, and lets out a huge sigh of relief when he sees his girlfriend.  

"Bloody hell, Lil.  I thought you wer-"

But instead of speaking, her chest heaves, and she sobs, and he slides his wand up his sleeve as he moves towards her.  He throws his arms around her, pulling her body tightly against his own, trying desperately to soothe her anguish.  

"What's wrong?  What's happened?"  She buries further into his neck, and he strokes her hair before pulling back and trying to look at her face.  "Lil, what is it?"  She opens her hand, and he sees it – a scrap of paper rolled up between her fingers.  He tugs it, and with his other hand still stroking the back of her hair, he reads:

_By order of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Ministry of Magic please note that from this date forward, all payments for goods and services must be rendered from a Gringotts account._

He stops reading, and frowns.  "You couldn't pay cash?  For the shopping?"

She shakes her head, her damp cheeks wetting through his shirt.  "No."  She sucks in another breath, and sobs again.

"It's ok, Lil, it's ok."  He tips her head so she's looking towards him, and rubs the pads of his thumbs across her cheeks, wiping away her fallen tears.  "We've got a Gringotts account.  We can use that."

"No," she corrects him, firmly.  " _You've_ got a Gringotts account."

"Yeah, well," he winces, "it's a technicality."

"A technicality because I am unfit to hold such an account."

He holds her more tightly.  "I gave you equal access," he says, reassuringly.  "What's mine is yours.  You know that.  It's ours."

She shakes her head, tears threatening to fall again.  "I can't use it."

"What do you mean, you can't use it?"  

"I tried."

He looks stunned now, and grabs his wallet off the table.  He flicks it open, takes his Wizarding Bank access card out and taps it with his wand.  It flashes, and then a white quill appears, writing in the air.  

 _Vault 247.  Owner: Severus Snape.  Access granted: Lily Evans_.

He turns back to Lily, and points at the writing.  "See."

She looks at him, the challenge evident in her eyes, and she takes her copy of his Wizarding Bank access card out of her pocket.  She taps it with her wand, and it flashes.  He crosses his arms, a frown appearing on his face, as the quill turns white, and then blood red.  

_Vault 247.  Owner: Severus Snape, Halfblood.  Access privileges denied: Lily Evans, Muggleborn._

"See?" she says.

He disguises the wobble in his hands by pushing them into his pockets.  "It's got to be a mistake."  He nods towards his own discarded card.  "Try it on mine."

She does as he asks, and this time, the quill turns turquoise.  

_Vault 247.  Owner: Severus Snape.  Access only permitted by wands authorised by Severus Snape._

"You authorised my wand, remember?"

"Right.  Do it with my wand then," he says, sliding it out of his sleeve, a flinty gleam in his eye.  He passes it to her, and she casts again.

 _Vault 247_ it says, in green writing.   _Owner: Severus Snape.  Wand access granted, but further identification required.  Place finger on card for access._

They both stare in horror at the writing.

"This can't be right," he says, snatching his wand back.  He casts again at the card, and this time, it behaves exactly as expected: 

_Vault 247.  Owner: Severus Snape.  Access granted: Lily Evans_.

"It's like they didn't want you to know," she says, softly.  "As if your access request doesn't matter."

"As if it's being overridden at a higher level," he muses.  He picks the leaflet from the Ministry of Magic back up, and peers at it.  "Well, looks like I'll be doing the shopping then," he says, forcing joviality into his voice.

"You study and I can't.  You work because I'm not allowed.  And now I can't even buy a loaf of bread to feed you, or a sponge to clean the bathroom with."  She tries not to sound as bitter as she feels but she knows she's failing miserably.  "You'll be trading up soon.  For a partner who can actually bring something to the relationship-"

"Don't," he says, wrapping his arms back around her.  "You're everything to me."

She gladly accepts his embrace, but the thrum of fear spills down her spine; he might think she's everything, but it's obvious that without Severus, she'd be cut off in the magical world.

* * *

Severus follows the house elf down the corridor, and they both draw to a halt at the door of the study.  

The elf raps on the wood loudly, and Lucius' bored tone echoes through the door.  "Yes, what is it?"

"Master Severus is here to see you, sir," the elf calls back, trembling slightly – and then the door is yanked open.  The elf winces and throws his arms defensively into the air, as if fearing a blow that - thankfully - doesn't eventuate.

Lucius sneers in disgust.  "Back to the kitchen with you."  He doesn't need to repeat the request; in a flash, the elf has disappeared – leaving Lucius' attention entirely on Severus.  "And you, Severus…"

"Malf."

"-what brings you here this fine afternoon?"  Lucius waves him in to the study, closing the door quietly behind them, and then points at the chair opposite his desk.  "Be seated."

"Thank you."

"Drink?"

"No, I'm… I've got to work," he says, suddenly uncomfortable under Lucius' steely gaze.

Lucius glances at the grandfather clock in the corner.  "Mmm," he agrees.  "I must admit, I did not expect my visitor to be yourself."  He leans forward, his elbows resting on the desk.  "I am, of course, awaiting your owl."

Severus swallows hard.  "I know."

"You know?"  Lucius raises a single eyebrow.  "So you haven't forgotten, and yet…" He opens his hands, expressing that Severus' letter has not been forthcoming.

"I haven't quite finished."

"You haven't… _quite_ …finished?"

"It's a bit full on, Malf.  With Jigger, and the Broomsticks, and-"  He pauses.  "Look, I'll be done tonight."

"Your shift doesn't finish until nearly midnight, no?"

He flushes.  "No."

"So what _precisely_ do you have left to do, Severus, that you can achieve in these fleeting moments after your shift at the Three Broomsticks and yet before the midnight hour chimes?"

"I mean, I'll be done by morning.  Her stuff's gone already," he says, quickly.  "It's just my box of Rain Away.  Twenty vials or so.  And I need to check the stock figures again, only it's difficult-"

"Indeed.  Would you like to borrow an abacus, perhaps?"

Severus gives a slow smile at his old friend's quip.  "I've got my fingers, thanks."

"Don't forget your toes."

He rolls his eyes, but he can't help but be amused at Lucius' broad smirk, relieved that the atmosphere in the room has lightened a little.  "Yes, witty, Malf.  The problem is getting opportunity, if you catch my drift?"

"Oh, I _see_."  Lucius nods.  "The Mudblood is in the way-"

"-she's not in the way!"

"Severus, Severus, so touchy," says Lucius, tapping his quill against the desk.  "I did not mean anything by it.  Although I do not particularly see the problem - send her out."

"I did!  I'm not an imbecile."

"Well, not a complete one," Lucius concedes.  "And unfortunately she came back, yes?  A rather distressing habit these creatures seem to have."

Severus doesn't trust himself to speak, and instead, reaches in his pocket and pulls out the decree, passing it across the desk.

"Oh _yes_ ," says Lucius, with a wide smile.  "I rather forgot that was coming in this week."

"You knew?"

"But of course," Lucius says, picking up the Prophet and passing it to him.  "Do you no longer read?"

"I stopped taking it.  Money's been a bit tight," he says, by way of explanation, not wanting to reveal that his real reason for ceasing delivery of the magical newspaper was because Lily was becoming distressed by the rise in anti-Muggleborn rhetoric written within the pages.

Lucius' nostrils flare, and he peers at Severus.  "I had gained that impression, yes.  I shall reinstate it for you-"

"It's ok-"

" _Nonsense_ ," Lucius says, with a flourish and Severus can't help but think that Lucius has seen straight through his claim.  "I can't have you being unaware of your surroundings.  Consider it done."

"Thanks, Malf."  He can't say a lot else.

"And this," Lucius says, picking up the decree once more and wafting it in the air, "is what you've really come to see me about, isn't it?"

"She can't do anything, Malf," he says, earnestly.  "Can't shop.  Can't spend cash, can't use my Gringotts account."

"Well, of course not, dear boy – that's rather the point."

"But she has access.  I gave her access."

Lucius sniffs.  "All access privileges have been revoked, depending on blood status.  It is explained in the article."  He shoots Severus a small smile.  "I must say, I had rather forgotten that you'd be caught up in all this."  

"There's nothing to be done?  An exception, or-"

"I'm afraid not."  Lucius shakes his head solemnly, and then pauses, considering.  "Well…"

"Well?"  Severus leans forward eagerly.  "Well what?"

"There is one solution…"


	9. Public Information Services

She looks at him, aghast.  "You don't get it, do you?"

"Lil, of course-"

"Or do you not care?  Is that it?"

He looks pained.  "I was trying to find a way around it, a way for you to keep your independence, so you can shop and-"

"Do you know who that exception was made for?"  She stares at him, and when he tries to look away, she grabs his chin, forcing him to focus on her.  "I asked you a question, Severus."  She can feel his jaw tightening, but she doesn't let go, her fingers pressing into his skin.  "No?  Should I tell you?"

His voice is barely more than a whisper.  "I know."

"House elves!"  And her voice is a scream.  "Bloody house elves!"

He wrenches his face out of her grip, her nails catching and tearing the soft skin covering his jaw.  "Fuck," he hisses, swiping the blood away with the back of his hand.  

She watches him as he moves to the bathroom.  She can hear the tap running as he washes his face, his muttered curses almost – but not quite – drowned out by the water, but she can't bring herself to follow him.  She can't ask him how he's feeling, and she most certainly can't apologise.

And then he's in the doorway, two pieces of tissue paper hastily torn and stuck on his face, fixed in place with blood.  It's as if he's cut himself shaving.  He stares at her, and when she says nothing, he looks as if he's been betrayed.  

 _Good_ , she thinks, because that's how she feels too.  

He clatters around the small flat, picking up his wallet, and his wand, and pulling on his boots.  He's making a show of it, trying to goad her into speaking, but she's not going to be manipulated.  She's the injured party in all of this.

He's at the door, his fingers wrapped tightly around the handle, before he speaks.  "You can't blame me for being Half," he says.

She can't answer him.  He's right.  She can't blame him for being Half, and she doesn't blame him for being Half.  She knows that the changes in the law aren't his doing, and that he doesn't agree, and he'd vote against them if he was given opportunity.  But knowing that doesn't change the fact that she's having her rights ripped away, whilst his remain intact.

"It's not just you this hurts," he ventures, his voice softer still, "and if I could swap with you-"

"You can't."

"But if I could-"

She gives an incredulous hiss.  She just wants him to go – to stop this pointless conversation when all he has to offer are platitudes and sympathy.  She stares hard at the window, willing him to stop talking - willing him to leave.  

"Lil…"

"Did you even notice?" she asks, her voice trembling.  "No?"  She turns back, and picks up the scrunched up decree that's on the table, and smooths it out.

"We should throw that away," he says, moving towards her.  "You need to stop torturing yourself with it."

"I'll stop when you really read it!" she cries, slapping it forcefully against his chest.  "Read it again, Severus!"  

There's a moment, and then - even though he's reading silently in his head - she knows he's finally read the phrase that's stung her, because his eyes harden.  

"Out loud," she says.

His eyes close, and he takes a deep breath, his fingers shaking.  She can hear the paper rustling in the air as he tries to regain his composure, and then he stares at the page once more.  He starts to say it out loud, but his ordinarily smooth voice keeps catching.  "By…by or-order of the Departme, oh _fuck_."

"Go on."  The more that he falters, the colder she becomes.  "Read it all."

But now he's crying as much as she is, the tears openly falling down his face.  "By order of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures," and then he stops, and screws the offending piece of parchment into a tight ball in his fists, and launches it across the room.  "Lil, I never even…"

"They're dehumanising us."  She sobs, and she chokes, and she wants him to hold her and she wants him to go away, and she just wants all of this to stop.  "That should've come from the Public Information Services, not the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures!   _Magical Creatures_!  What am I, a hippogriff?  A dung beetle?  A flobberworm?"

"Lil, don't-"

"And then _you_ find a way around it!  Oh, yes, clever Severus finds a way-"

"Lil, I've said I'm sorry-"

"And it's a loophole!  It's ingenious, I'll give you that.  Yes, you can register me to your store account.  As a _servant_."

"No.  No, Lil, no-"

"As a house elf!"  

* * *

He doesn't go to work.  He contacts Rosmerta, and he takes off his boots, and he perches on the edge of the sofa.  

She wants to rip those two pieces of tissue off his face, and she wants it to hurt – and then she sees the pain in his eyes, and she wants him to hold her instead.  She doesn't tell him any of this.  Instead, she stands.  "I can't do this," she hears herself say, and she pulls on her shoes.

"Where are you going?"

"I want to be alone."

To her surprise, he shrugs.  "You do what you've got to do," he says, and although she knows he doesn't mean a single word of it, he doesn't try and stop her.  For a moment, she thinks he's going to – he's at the top of the stairs, and she's at the bottom, and he calls for her to stop.  She does, and she checks her robes, wondering what she's forgotten, and then she hears his words, "Be safe, and come back," and she walks away even faster, scared that if she looks back at him, she'll crumble.

The Order doesn't meet on a Tuesday, and there's no point in going to the Broomsticks.  He's meant to be there, and even though she's left him in the flat by himself, she doubts he'll change his mind about going into work.  Not now, not in the state she left him in – and she doesn't want to have a conversation with Rosmerta about his absence.  She can't lie, and she's not sure how sympathetic the older witch will be to their suffering.  That's part of the problem – these days, you just can't tell who is going to be on your side.

Lily wonders, as she strides quickly past the window of the Broomsticks, if Rosmerta is the type to permit Muggleborns to set up a tab, with the understanding that another witch or wizard will settle it on their behalf.  If not, Lily wonders if she'd make an exception for staff – for her and Severus – but she quickly dismisses the thought; it's not too different to the idea he suggested for their shopping, and she doesn't want to think about house elves and creatures again.

She marches through Hogsmeade, and stands for a moment at the front of the Hog's Head, surprised that she's found her way here without intending it.   _What would Aberforth do?_ she wonders.   _What would he say if I asked him to create a tab which I'm not permitted to pay for?_ – and then she thinks better of entering and asking, deciding that she really doesn't want to know which way his true allegiance lies, Dumbledore by name or not – but before she can turn and head for home, a warm arm loops through her own.

"Looking lost," grins Potter, although his smile instantly drops as he feels her tense at his contact.  "Hey, come on.  We're old friends, right?"

"Acquaintances," she concedes coldly.  "And I'm not lost, thank you."

"Fancy a drink, then?" he asks.  "See if we can change acquaintances into friends?"  She pauses, and sensing a victory within his grasp, his disarming smile returns.  "First round's on me."

"All rounds are on you," she mutters.  "Or haven't you heard?"

His shoulders sag slightly.  "Yeah," and he runs his hands awkwardly through his roughened hair.  "That's pretty terrible stuff.  It's not a done deal, though."

"Could've fooled me."

He glances over his shoulder, checking for eavesdroppers.  "Well, I could tell you-"  As abruptly as he starts, he stops, and the pair stand in silence as a tall man strolls past them.  The man walks into the Hog's Head, pausing and peering at them thoughtfully as he pulls open the door, and then he's gone, the door slamming loudly in his wake.  "The street isn't the place for this conversation, Evans."

She raises her eyebrows.  "And if that wizard has spooked you, we can hardly continue this inside over a firewhisky, can we, Potter?"

"No," he says, "but you're not going to be sensible and come with me alone, are you?"  Again, she pauses for a moment too long, and he tips his head ever so slightly to the side, appraising her intently.  "Or are you?  Is that reckless Gryffindor lion I know so well just bursting to claw out?  Come on, Evans, let loose and be wild!"

That roguish smile is back on his face, and the tip of his nose is reddened in the cold.  She can barely feel her fingers, wishing she'd thought to pull her gloves on before marching out of the flat, but she can't decide what would be worse – being seen talking to Potter in the Hog's Head, or Severus hearing on the grapevine that she's been socialising with Potter in private.

"I can't," she says, finally.  

"Right."

"It's not you."

"No, it's him!"

"Don't, Potter."  Her voice is hard – she knows it is – but as angry as she is, all she can see in her mind is the vision of her boyfriend reading and re-reading that rotten pamphlet, and his reaction when the realisation of her predicament finally sunk in.  "He's not done anything-"

Potter's lips thin and he presses them together angrily.  "Yes, and that's the point!  It's about time he realised which side he was on.  If this isn't enough to make him-"

She steps away from him. "I'm not discussing my relationship with you, of all people."

He gives her a curious smile.  "Of all people?"  He takes a step closer to her.  "What a weird thing to say."

"What's weird about it?" she snipes, her fury getting the better of her.  "You spent years asking me out-"

"-can't blame a bloke-"

"-when you knew I was with Severus!  And now you're disparaging him again, and you don't even know him, or anything about him, or what he's-"

Potter's taken a step back now, and he's holding his hands up in defeat.  "I didn't mean to offend you, or disrespect Snape, and…" He looks lost for words, and a little unsure of her sudden anger.  "I get that this is a stressful time for you both."  He glances behind him once more.  "I can walk you back, if that's ok with you?"

"No."

"Think about Snape," he says, his voice a little cooler.  "Would he want you walking back alone?  Because if you were my girl, I wouldn't."

She knows Severus wouldn't.  She knows he's probably already furious that she's stormed off, and if she walks back through Hogsmeade in the middle of the night by herself, it'll be something else for him to rant and rave about.  Or perhaps worse, he won't rant and rave.  Perhaps he'll be silently standing by the window, watching down the street like a bird of prey, waiting for her to return to him.  And when she does, he won't speak of their hateful evening spent apart – he'll be gentle, and kind, and he'll have changed the sheets, and they'll make love in the darkness with the smell of fabric conditioner surrounding them – and right now, she doesn't want that either.

"Floo then?" Potter asks, breaking her thoughts.  "Aberforth would let us-"

"No."  There's no point explaining that their fireplace is blocked; it'd give him too many clues as to the dealings in the flat.

"Bloody hell," he says, looking exasperated.  "I tell you, I didn't realise Snape was such a saint putting up with you and your drama-"

"Piss off, Potter.  I don't need your help, I didn't ask for it, and I certainly don't want it."

"Right," he says, drawing himself up to his full height.  "Last offer.  Apparate with me," and he holds his hand out.  "You can even do the honours, and I'll leave once I've seen you safely inside."

She stares him down, but knows that his offer is sensible.  It's late, and it's dark, and now that her anger has dulled to a roar, the rational part of her brain keeps telling her that there's no point in being outside alone.  "Fine, but you'll leave as soon as our feet hit the street."

"Deal."  He grabs her hand, and she casts with her wand, and they lurch into nothingness.

As they spin through the air, she spies Severus sat on the pavement with his feet on the road.  The kerb is only a couple of inches high, so it causes his knees to be up to his shoulders, and she's struck by how odd he looks – young, and awkward, and scared, all lanky limbs, and long hair.  The distraction leads her to land with an almighty crack – when she's emotional, subtlety isn't her strength – and she stumbles forward.  

Potter throws his arms around her to steady her, but she only has eyes for Severus, who looks distraught at her entrance.  She immediately pushes Potter away, and runs towards her boyfriend.  She's close to him – so close, she can even see the livid red streaks on his jaw from their earlier fight – and her mouth is already half open, ready to explain that it's not what it looks like, when the bulk of Alastor Moody blocks her way.  


	10. Petty discrimination

"Evans," Moody says, holding her tightly.  "Stay there."

"Sev!" she calls, leaning past Moody's arm.  "Severus!"  She tries to push the bigger man away, but she can't break out of his firm grasp.  "Let me past!  I need to-"

"Mr Snape here is answering some of our enquiries," he says, not unkindly.  He glances at Crouch, who nods, and Moody then continues.  "You can go up to your flat, but you mustn't touch anything."

"I'm not going anywhere without Severus."

Moody huffs, clearly not anticipating such dissent, and looks again at Crouch.  Crouch appraises Lily, and then Severus, and eventually nods once more to Moody.  "Let them both up, Alastor.  But don't let either of them out of your sight."

* * *

She steps into the flat first, and he grabs her hand when she flinches.  The place is a mess – glass strewn over the floor, cauldrons tipped upside down, books with pages ripped out of them.  There's an auror stood in the fireplace, methodically unblocking the Floo, and she can see another in their bathroom, tipping her cosmetics bag over the bath.

"Stop that!" she yells, but Severus' hand holds her firmly in place, preventing her from confronting the wizard.

"Leave them to it, love."

"But why?  It's just lipstick and mascara.  Nothing else."  She looks distraught, and he runs a gentle finger across her brow, as if to erase her upset.

"Let them do what they need," he says.  "Trust me, they've already done most of it."  He pulls her down onto the sofa, and holds her hand.  It's comforting, his presence, and although she desperately wants to embrace him, she knows that he's unlikely to be any more demonstrative with unknown witches and wizards filling their flat.

"Have they said what they're looking for?"

"No.  They've had a tip off, apparently."  His voice is steady, but he squeezes her fingers tightly, causing her to glance at him.  "Probably mistaken identity."  His expression is impassive, but she can see that flash in his eyes - that glint she knows so well.  

She squeezes his hand back, their own silent communication – message received, and understood.  She's not stupid, Lily, and she knows that in letting them both back into the flat, it's practically a declaration from the aurors that they've not found anything.  

Yet.

Moody's pacing around them, and she knows only too well that he's the real concern.  In letting them sit together, in letting them talk, she knows that Crouch has decided that she's the honey - the bait - and Severus is the unsuspecting insect.  It makes her think of primary school, of crawling around in the wood with pooters, clamping the flexible tube over the oblivious creature and sucking it into the collection jar.  

Moody's looking at her now, and she knows she has to say something, has to keep up appearances and pretend to be normal, but her mind is suddenly blank.   _What's normal anymore?_ It's just been one terrible situation after another, and in the end, that's what she goes with – _if you're going to lie_ , her mother always said to her, _try and stick as close to the truth as you can_.  

"Just about sums up my day," she finally jokes.  Moody lifts an eyebrow, and Severus grins, and she knows it was the right thing to say.

"And then you had to suffer Potter as well!"

"Terrible, terrible day."

"I'll say."  Severus leans back on the sofa, that topic finished for now, although she knows he's going to give her the third degree when the aurors finally depart.  "I meant to ask you," he says, his voice steady and calm.  "Did you ever finish reading that article that old Sluggy had published in last month's Potions Quarterly?"

"No," she says, grateful for his quick thinking.

"Do you mind if we…" he starts, waving his hand towards Moody, and pointing at the magazine on the floor.  

Moody stoops and picks it up, scanning it quickly, shaking it, and then holding it up to the light.  Sensing nothing wrong, he shrugs, and hands it over to Lily.  "Knock yourself out."

Severus settles on the sofa, pulling Lily against his chest, and she holds the magazine out in front of them both.  "Comfy?" he asks, and she nods – but in this position, she can feel his heartbeat thundering.  The knowledge that under his smooth and controlled exterior he's as terrified as she is almost tips her over the edge, and she's glad when he starts to read the article out loud, his silky voice a much needed distraction from her whirring thoughts.

* * *

The aurors take another hour – hunting and searching, poking and prodding.  She feels violated by their presence, hating how they fiddle with every personal possession, every private belonging.  They sweep through the bedroom, prying through their wardrobes, and she can feel her heart pounding in her chest as they linger for a little too long in her underwear drawer.

Not even her old schoolbooks are safe.  The chubby auror raises his eyebrows at her marks – "Clever little thing, aren't you?" – but she holds her tongue when Severus squeezes her hand once more.  He stares at the clock, and she follows his gaze.   _Not long now_.  Least, she thinks that's what he's trying to say to her – and if so, he's right; the aurors have already been there for the best part of the night, and their flat isn't that big.

And then Crouch stamps upstairs from the street below, and beckons Moody to the door.  A short moment later, Moody waves his hand, and the aurors file out.  The _do not cross_ tape is wound back onto its roll, and the blue lights outside depart.  She glances at Severus, and he glances back, and she squeezes his hand – neither daring to speak.

"Mr Snape, a word?"

"Certainly," he says, releasing her hand and standing.

"Just Severus?" she asks, and Crouch's mouth thins.  There's something in his look – almost apologetic, but it's fleeting.  "Mr Snape is the registered tenant-"

"Whatever you have to say to me," Severus interrupts, firmly, "you can say in front of Lily."

Moody and Crouch exchange a look, and then Moody whispers to Crouch.  Crouch straightens.  "As you wish, Mr Snape."  He pulls a parchment from his pocket.  "This is your record of the search today.  The only cause for concern is the quantity of brewing equipment-"

"Two cauldrons is not-" Severus starts to argue, but Moody holds up his hand to silence him.

"Indeed, Mr Snape, given your profession," Crouch continues, "two cauldrons is acceptable, and on this occasion, due to the absence of any other suspicious material, I will overlook the quantity of glass vials you have stored.  With that in mind, I feel I must remind you that brewing in the home-"

"I haven't-"

"Don't argue back, boy!" snaps Moody.  "Impertinence."

Severus glowers, and Lily quickly stands behind him, entwining her fingers in his in a show of silent support.

"As I was saying," Crouch intones, "brewing in the home is prohibited, even by those apprenticing in the trade.  There are _no_ exceptions.  If you wish to brew outside your Master's lab, you must procure your own official environment.  A list of available locations can be requested in writing from the address on this form.  If you find a suitable laboratory for your needs, an official application – countersigned by your Master – must be submitted to the same address."  He ripped a piece of parchment and handed it to Severus.  "Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"I am also issuing you with a notice," and another piece of parchment is pulled from his robes, "warning about the dangers of blocking Floo access within an apartment."  Severus opens his mouth, but Crouch shakes his head.  "I have heard your testimony already, and I accept that your actions were due to concerns about unauthorised use and the safety of your chosen partner.  Despite this, it is my duty to inform you that such actions are prohibited.  However, my aurors have unblocked the Floo this evening, and I am content that no further action is required."  He taps the parchment, causing a paragraph to be highlighted.  "As explained in this section, you may be required to submit to periodic checks to ensure that the Floo access has not been tampered with without prior authorisation.  As you have now been officially warned about this behaviour, please be aware that a reoccurrence will carry a substantial fine, and the possibility of a custodial sentence."

Severus does not dignify the speech with a response, so Crouch waves his wand, the disarray in the flat righting itself.  The broken shards of glass on the floor reassemble into full bottles, and torn pages fly back into their books, which - in turn - set themselves squarely on the shelves.  

"Thank you for your co-operation this evening," Crouch says, curtly.

"Who was it?"  

"Lil!" Severus hisses from the corner of his mouth.

"No, Severus.  I think we have a right to know," she says, her chin jutting out proudly.

"Regrettably, Evans," Moody quickly answers, before Crouch opens his mouth, " _you_ don't have all that many rights these days."  

She winces, and Moody – for his part – seems somewhat ashamed at voicing such a statement, but she isn't prepared to let the point drop.  "And if Severus was asking?"

Crouch sounds almost bored when he intervenes.  "The Department is not at liberty to reveal its sources."

"What she means to ask, sir," Severus says, keeping his gaze down and his voice deferential, "is in light of no evident wrongdoing, would it be possible for you to assure us that the query was genuine?  Or are we to believe…" he trails off, as if suddenly unsure.

Moody scowls.  "You've started now.  Spit it out."

Severus draws a shuddering breath, and speaks hurriedly.  "Are we to believe that we have been targeted due to my girlfriend's blood status?"

At this, Crouch stands over him, his moustache quivering.  "My Department, _boy_ , does not indulge itself in such petty discrimination.   _You_ , son, were targeted because _you_ are a disgraced brewer.  Oh yes," and he gives a nasty smile.  "Are you aware that your little incident with Mr Borage made international headlines?"

An ugly flush rises from Severus' collar, stretching up his neck, but he does not answer.

"And as a consequence, it was not such a stretch to imagine that _you_ in particular would choose to deliberately circumvent the laws of our community.   _You_ have a reputation, boy, for making poor choices," and then he glances at Lily – and the slight is not missed by her or Severus, but before either can protest, Crouch continues.  "The intelligence we acted upon was from a reputable and reliable source, and given your present circumstances, entirely believable.  It is your good fortune that we have not found anything damning within these walls."

To Lily's amazement, Severus doesn't quaver under Crouch's hateful speech.  "It is not my good fortune," he spits, defiantly, "that you did not find anything.  Your no doubt _excellent_ team of accomplished and talented aurors did not find anything within these walls, for there is nothing illegal to find."

Behind Crouch, Moody looks amused, but he does not speak.

"Be warned, boy," Crouch says, pointing his finger at Severus.  "I will be keeping a very close eye on you.  A very close eye indeed."


	11. A pretty girl like you

He stands at the window, the curtain held back in one hand, and watches as Crouch and Moody disappear into the night.  Once he's certain they've gone, he moves to the door and rattles the handle, checking that it's secure.

"Sev?"

"I need a shower," he says, briskly, and then silently places his forefinger on his lips.  She glances around the room, suddenly cautious, and then he holds his hand out in invitation.  This time, when he speaks, there's a playful edge to his voice.  "Why don't you join me, hey?"  

He pulls her towards the bathroom, shuts the door, and puts the lid down on the toilet.  He points for her to sit, and then snaps the shower on, turning the heat up as far as it will go.  He kneels before her, taking her face in his hands, and kisses her softly – her cheeks, her eyelids, the patch of sensitive skin just before her ear.  

"Sev," she mumbles – and then he captures her lips.

"Shhhh."  He deepens the kiss, rising up on his knees, and threading his fingers through her hair.  Her fingers trace the red marks she left on his jaw, and he pulls away, twisting his neck until he's grazing kisses over the fingers that scratched him.

Then he breaks away from her touch completely, and undoes the top few buttons of his shirt, followed by his cuffs, and then slides the garment over his head just like a jumper.  He stands, quickly unbuttoning his trousers, and he steps out of them as he reaches for her, helping her to stand and undress in the same efficient manner – and then they're both in the shower, limbs entangled, and the back of her head is pressed against the cool tile.

"It's too hot," she gasps, as the scalding water torrents down onto them, and his hand reaches up and twists the dial.

"Sorry, sorry," he says, moving her so he's stood between her and the showerhead, his body shielding her from the worst of the hot water, and then he grips her wrist to gain her attention.  His other hand is back at his mouth again, that same finger on his lips, imploring her silence.  The shower screen has misted, and he carefully traces a word in the condensation: 

_bugged_

She freezes.

He kisses her neck, tracing his way up to her ear.  "Okay?" comes his careful whisper, and she can feel the vibrations of his murmur in the shell of her ear.  

She nods, and then her finger – quaking slightly – touches the glass. She draws swiftly, and it's the perfect symbol of an eye.

He shakes his head, and crosses it out, and then he attempts to draw an ear.  He grimaces at his effort, and rubs it away with his hand, and then he draws a pair of lips with a large _X_ next to it.

She writes: 

_in here?_

He shrugs, and she tries again:

_living room?_

He nods this time.  

_other rooms?_

At this, he looks pained.  She understands his hesitance - she doesn't want to think about the whole flat being bugged either.  The living room is bad enough, but their bedroom?  

 _how_ _sure?_

He waits a long moment, as if he's mulling it over, before finally writing a response: 

_90%_

They're running out of room on the glass, but she's got nearly all of the information she needs.  Apart from one thing: 

_so what do we do?_

He writes just one word: 

_love_

Then he wipes the whole screen clear with his forearm, and she doesn't understand what he means.  But he wraps himself around her, and kisses her with a fervency she hasn't felt from him in weeks, and as the water pounds down on them from above, she matches his passion with her own.

* * *

She finds herself watching him sleep, his legs twisted awkwardly around more than his fair share of the duvet.  She can't sleep – not after the day she's had, and the more she thinks about the last few hours, the more embarrassed she becomes.  Not merely embarrassed – horrified, frankly – at the thought of those aurors listening in as Severus gently laid her down on their bed and… 

It makes her breath catch in her chest to even consider it.  

She falls asleep at some point, because she's rudely awakened by the sharp whistle of the kettle, and the even sharper whistle of her boyfriend, and the frying pan banging against the stove.  She pulls her dressing gown off the back of the door, and wanders through the flat to find him standing in front of the cooker.

"Frying again?"

"Guilty as charged," he grins, basting the eggs with a spoon, and pointing to the worktop behind him.  "Coffee's ready."

She grabs her mug, and inhales the bitter aroma, settling herself at the table.  He practically drops a plate in front of her, clatters her cutlery unceremoniously to the side, and before he's fully seated, he starts to shovel his own food into his mouth.

"Honestly, you'll choke one of these days."

"I'm absolutely famished," he says, between mouthfuls – and she can practically hear the laughter in the auror office at his words.  "And Jigger wants me in before nine, remember?  Need to preserve the grape larva before they start to hatch."

"Sounds delightful," she says, pushing her plate away, and her stomach turning.

"Don't want it?"

She shakes her head, and he picks her plate up, scraping the contents loudly onto his own and shovelling the food into his mouth.  "Sev, you're so noisy.  It's early."

"It's practically midday."

"It's half eight."

He grins, and wipes his mouth with the back of his wrist, collecting both of their plates and depositing them loudly in the sink.  "Meet me in the Broomsticks at six," he says.  "There's a few things I want to discuss."  And he kisses her – tasting faintly of fried egg and toothpaste – and he's gone.

* * *

When she enters the bustling pub, she spots him straight away – leaning on a broom and chatting to Rosmerta.  There's a cloth over his shoulder, which she's certain can't be hygienic, and then Rosmerta taps his face with affection, causing him to recoil with a slight grimace.  Rosmerta laughs, and then points to a dirty table, and he gives her a mock salute – that mischievous smirk that she loves so much plastered over his face, and she's slightly jealous that he's sharing it with another woman.

He's clearing the table when she walks over.  "Just a minute," he says, not glancing up, "I need to wipe it down."

"Sev?"  

He looks up through his curtain of hair, and beams at the sight of her.  He dances around the table and quickly pulls out a chair for her to sit on.  "Hello hello. Something non-alcoholic, love?"  He looks a little regretful.  "I'm on shift, see?"

She nods and sits, and she watches him stride to the bar.  He mutters something to Rosmerta, and then he's back, a glass in each hand.  He sets them on the table, grabs the seat next to her, and covers her hands with his own before leaning across and kissing her.  As he pulls out of the kiss, she hears him faintly murmur, "Remember last night," and then he settles down across from her.

"How was work?"

"Same old, same old," he says, stretching his legs out and yawning.  "Bloody knackered though."  He shows her his hands, peppered liberally with thin cuts.  "Kept missing when I was slicing the flobberworms this afternoon."

"Sev, you need to be more careful."  

"Yeah, well, I learnt my lesson when I was tasked with cutting the lemons for the bar tonight-"  

"Ouch," she says, wincing in sympathy, sucking air in through her teeth.

He nods.  "Yeah, that was pretty much my expression."  He sips his drink.  "How was your day?"

"Dull," she says, his warning about the previous night ringing in her ears.  She has so much that she wants to say to him, and she thought this was going to be their opportunity, but he's as cautious and as skittish here as he was at home.  

"Yeah?"

"I did a bit of cleaning, and some washing - which reminds me, you really need some new socks."  As she's speaking, she can see his gaze darting around the room, appraising every witch and wizard sat within earshot of them.  "We could go to Diagon Alley this weekend, and get some new ones?  And you need a new set of brewing robes as well, because whatever caused that hole in the sleeve, it just won't mend.  I've used four different types of stitch on it already."

He gives the slightest of nods.  "Yeah, whatever you want.  Sounds like a boring day, love, but at least you didn't slice your fingers open."  He takes another long sip of his drink.  "It was a Snargaluff vine that put paid to my robes.  I hadn't properly put into stasis before I sliced into it," he explains.  "Sheeeeeeesh," he says, miming it tearing through his sleeve.  "You should've seen my robes before I brought them home – the whole arm was shredded."

"What did I just tell you about being more careful?"  She shoots him a serious look.  "You need to take care of yourself."

"Especially now, hey?" he says, wrapping his hands around hers, and staring at her.  That glint is back, and he squeezes her fingers, but she can't work out where he's going with this.  "I know it might have happened, love, and it's okay."

She has absolutely no idea what he's talking about, but she can sense the wizard on the next table shifting slightly in his chair.   _Is he an auror?_ She forces her voice to be steady.  "You know what might happen?"

"Tell me you did the test?"  He gives her a cautious smile – a slightly cocky smirk, and slides his hair behind his ear.  She doesn't answer – she can't, but he carries on irrespective.  "I'm sorry for jumping to conclusions, it's just after you were sick the other day, and then this morning you didn't want to eat, and…" He trails off, as if unsure of himself.  "Look, Lil, it doesn't matter if it's a false alarm, but I just wanted you to know that I'm not going anywhere."  

"This… _this_ is what you wanted to discuss?"

He leans over the table and kisses her, and she's not quite sure how to respond, and then she feels his fingers reaching for hers and he squeezes them so tightly, she gasps into his mouth.  He rests his forehead against her own, his eyes searching hers.  "We can do the test when I get home."

And then he's up, and his drink has gone, and he's back behind the bar.  As she stands to leave, she notices that the wizards on the table next to her have disappeared as well.

* * *

She skips one Order meeting, but plucks up the courage to go to the next.  Moody waves her in, but she takes the empty seat next to Potter instead.  The meeting is long – nearly two hours – and although several witches and wizards quickly make their excuses at the end, the duration wasn't enough to dissuade Moody from approaching her at the end of the night.

"Move," he says, but Potter just tilts his head at the older wizard.

"'Move, please' is the phrase, Moody," he corrects, laughing, and then laughs even more loudly as Moody tries to tip him out of the chair.  Potter falls to the floor, and then brushes his robes down, and shuffles himself next to Lily's feet.  "Floor's quite comfy, actually.  Think I might stay."

"Get lost, Potter," Moody says.  "I want to talk to Evans."

"Yeah, but does Evans want to talk to you?"

"Potter's fine where he is, Moody," she says, intervening between the two wizards.  "If he's got nothing better to do-"

"-I haven't," he quickly quips.

"Up to you, Evans," Moody says, settling in his seat.  "Your boyfriend's a clever lad, isn't he?"  

She doesn't answer – doesn't trust herself to speak, especially not with Potter staring up at her from the floor.

Moody isn't deterred by her silence.  "A right randy little bugger, mind," he says, giving a sickening smile when she blushes, "but a clever lad all the same."

"Is that your assessment, Moody, or the auror office's assessment?"

"Mine."  Moody fixes her with a curious look.  "The official auror office assessment is that you're two lustful, licentious youths who can't keep their hands off each other for long enough to vacuum the living room, let alone have the time to brew an array of illicit potions."

She makes the mistake of glancing down, and catches Potter's shocked expression, and Lily can feel her flush growing brighter.

"Did he have to screw you bent over the back of the sofa to prove his point?  Take you pressed up against the fridge - it was the fridge, wasn't it? - and fuck you hard on the living room floor?  Tell me, how did that disgusting, dirty boy convince a pretty girl like you that your cover story was so necessary, you simply had to kneel before him-"

She lifts her head in a spark of anger, determined not to let his crude phrasing bother her.  "So you're telling me that you've been spying on us?  What we do in the privacy of our own flat?"

Moody's temper flares, and he roughly grabs her wrist, twisting it painfully in his hand.  "You already _know_ ," he hisses.  "As does your nasty little boyfriend, and that's why you've both been putting on such a show this past fortnight.  Did it turn you on, Evans, knowing you had an audience?"

"That's enough," Potter says loudly, standing up and wrenching Lily's hand out of Moody's grasp. "Whatever you think she's done, or more likely, _Snape's_ done, this…this crosses a line."  

At Potter's intervention, he's suddenly flanked – Black and Pettigrew on one side, and Lupin on the other.  She can feel her heart beating in her ears, and the shame of the situation is enough to make her want to turn and run – the last thing she wants is to be saved by this gang of boys, who'll laugh and mock her behaviour, and then she's pulled out of her thoughts by the vision of Albus Dumbledore striding towards them.

"What's going on over here?  James?  Alastor?"

Moody stands, and sniffs.  "Nothing, Albus."  And then he stoops before her, his eyes dead level with her own.  "But I should say congratulations, should I not?  Inevitable that he'd knock you up with his bastard child, the way he uses you like a common whore for his sexual gratification all day long."

Her eyes are so full of tears, she doesn't see Potter swing for the older man, or see Black diving in after him – all she can hear are the shouts, and the yells, and the sudden unexpected swirl of side-along, and before she can catch her breath, she finds herself in a quiet room with just Amelia Bones for company.


	12. Beg me for it

Amelia digs through the filing cabinet by hand, her back to Lily.  Eventually, she pulls out a file from the top drawer and slams the drawer shut, before opening the bottom drawer and pulling out a bottle of firewhisky and two glasses.

"It's a privilege," she confides as she pushes the drawer closed with her foot and turns to face Lily, a cheeky smile on her face.  "The higher up you go in the Ministry, the more they turn a blind-eye to such indiscretions."  She places the bottle and the two glasses on the table, takes her seat opposite Lily, and lifts her monocle into position.  She blinks, and squints, and she peers at the closed file before her.  "Now then," she says, keenly.  "Evans!"

"…where are we?"

"Of course," Amelia says, without looking up, "how frightfully rude of me.  We are in the Auror Office at the Ministry."

Lily immediately freezes.  "I don't want to be here.  I want to go.  Now."

Amelia looks up and smiles – it's sympathetic, and seems genuine.  "You're not in any trouble, Lily."

But the feeling of revulsion is crawling over her – she's in the same part of the Ministry as the people who have spent the best part of three weeks spying on her and Severus, listening to their most intimate moments – and her heart is banging in her chest.  "I'm sorry, but if I'm not under arrest, I want to leave."

"I don't want to arrest you," says Amelia, dismissively.

"…but you will if I don't co-operate?"

Amelia smiles again, and this time, the smile feels a little less sympathetic.  "I'm pleased that we understand each other."  She turns her attention back to the file before her, and starts to read.  "Now, first of all, I should apologise for Alastor's behaviour this evening.  It was crass, and uncalled for, and not how this department operates."

"It is acceptable to invade people's privacy as long as you don't discuss it in public?"

Amelia laughs.  "My, you are a one, aren't you?  No wonder Alastor has been so very disappointed with the way things have turned out."  She flicks over a page in the file, and gives a huff of delight.  "And these results!  Yes, you were destined for wonderful career."  She peers at Lily.  "It's so unfortunate with girls your age, and we see it such a lot.  You take up with a boy who cares less for your career than his own-"

"No," interrupts Lily, harshly, not wanting to hear this woman's unfair assumption of her relationship.  "Severus didn't make me leave the Ministry."

"No?"

"The Decree for Unauthorised Magic saw to that."

Amelia winces.  "Yes, nasty business that law, but easily circumvented with the appropriate sponsor papers…" She pulls up short, and stares at Lily in horror.  "I do take it you had the appropriate sponsor papers?"  Lily stays silent, and Amelia quickly flips the next few pages of the file over as if hunting for the missing documents.  "Good grief.  So if you've been unable to work, what _have_ you been doing with yourself?"

"My boyfriend supports me."  She gives a thin smile.  "Sorry, I took up with a boy who couldn't care less about my career.  We have a transactional relationship, you see.  He feeds me, clothes me, keeps a roof over my head and so on, and I repay him with sexual favours.  As you'll have heard, it's quite a demanding position."

Amelia sighs loudly, and then pours a hefty slug of firewhisky into each of the glasses on the desk.  "Lily, dear, I think if this meeting between us is to be productive, we must start over."  She holds her hand out.  "As equals.  As members of Albus' Order.  What do you say?"

"I want those listening devices destroyed," she says, firmly.  "And then we'll shake hands."

* * *

"Here at last," drawls Lucius, not turning around from his position on the balcony.  The fresh evening air rushes in through the open double doors, and Malfoy's blond hair is gleaming under the stars, almost like a precious metal.  

"I came as soon as I could," he says.  "Did you require something from me?"

"Stand with me, Severus," he says, beckoning him over.  "Enjoy the view over my grounds."

Severus steps through the doors and onto the balcony, taking a space to the right hand side of Lucius.  With an almost lazy flick of his hand, Lucius calls, "Nox!" and the lights in the study immediately darken.  Severus blinks, his eyes taking a moment to adjust from the harsh glow from inside the manor to the relative darkness of nature.  "Give it a moment," Lucius says, and as usual, he's right.  Within a few minutes, his eyes have adjusted to the lower light, and Severus can pick out the highlights that surround them – the stars, the glint of the pond, the eyes of a woodland creature.  "Beautiful, wouldn't you say?"  

"I guess so, Malf."

"Thank you for your owl."

"I thought perhaps you hadn't received it safely," he says, cautiously.  "As you weren't in touch after."

Lucius gives him a wide smile.  "I rather thought you required some time and space to recover from your little auror adventure.  Tell me, have they left you alone of late, or is it possible that you have been followed tonight?"

"It's _possible_ ," he says, a little more quietly.  "It's quite challenging working out who might be an auror, and who might just be looking for some gossip."

"Indeed.  These are difficult times in which we live." Lucius takes a deep breath.  "It is why I like to stand here at nights, and just breathe.  To appreciate what surrounds us."  He turns, and gives a wry smile.  "Whereas I feel that you visit me, Severus, not to appreciate the wonders of nature, but to indulge your palate with the varieties of firewhisky not easily afforded on an apprentice's wage?"

"Malf, I-"

And then the older man laughs – a deep, booming, full laugh, and he claps his hand on Severus' shoulder.  "I jest, Severus, I jest.  And now that we have appreciated the great outdoors, shall we head back inside, for I have things I wish to discuss with you, and as you say-" and he casts a dramatic glance both left and right, "-you can never quite be sure who is listening?"

* * *

Her legs feel weak as they stand in the lift, descending deeply into the bowels of the Ministry.  When they reach their destination, Amelia casts a Disillusionment Charm over Lily.  She gasps as the spell takes effect, as it feels like cool running water spreading down over her body.

"Yes, it's a rather unusual feeling, isn't it?  Put your arm out," she instructs, and Lily does as she says.  Amelia smiles, as Lily marvels at how seamlessly she's blending in with the surroundings.  "Impressive, yes?"

"I've never seen one cast this perfectly."

"I am an auror, and we do have some talents.  Now, keep close to the wall, and move smoothly," she warns.  "It's not infallible, not by a long stretch, and aurors are far more suspicious than most witches and wizards.  Of course, your greatest strength is being with me – that and the fact that most of our top aurors have already headed for home for the evening."

Together, they step out into the corridor, and Amelia strides purposefully through the department.  She's right – it's sparsely populated compared to the number of desks and chairs available, and there's merely a handful of tired looking aurors nursing mugs of coffee and dunking biscuits whilst staring forlornly at stacks of paperwork.  

"Madam Bones," greets one.

"Percival," she replies, not breaking her stride.  "Your casefile on the Hopkirk fight was impressive.  Do keep it up."

"Yes, Madam Bones," he calls, a little brighter in tone – but if he says anything else, Lily doesn't hear it, as the two witches quickly round the corner.  Eventually, they reach a solid wooden door without a handle, and without hesitation, Amelia places her hand in the centre.  The door flashes, and swings open, and she ushers Lily in alongside her.

"This is the evidence locker," she murmurs, and Lily's eyes widen as the lights spring on to reveal a gigantic warehouse – easily the size of at least fifty Olympic swimming pools.

"Evidence _locker_?"

"Yes," Amelia replies, her amusement clear in her voice.  "The name doesn't quite do it justice.  Now, stay with me."  She leads Lily down several aisles, left and forward, and left again, and three rows forward, and eventually – when Lily is quite sure that she'd have no fortune finding the exit if she was left here alone – she reaches the row she's hunting for, and summons a box into her hands.

"The bugs are in a box in a warehouse?" she asks, dubiously.

"Yes," Amelia responds, as she briskly stalks off, and Lily has to jog to catch up.  "We use magic, you see."

"Right," Lily says, trying not to roll her eyes.  "How silly of me."

"The contents are transferred to record automatically every 4 hours, ready for the aurors on research duty to review."  She gives Lily a regretful look.  "Existing records are already labelled and filed, I'm afraid.  Once catalogued, they're a nightmare to retrieve.  Paperwork like you wouldn't believe."  She shakes the box.  "But at least our intervention tonight will cease future recordings."

"And these bugs won't be missed?"

Amelia gives a twinkling laugh which is completely at odds with her stern demeanour.  "Missed?  Of course these will be missed."  She pauses, deliberating.  "Lily, you and your – how _does_ Alastor put it?  Ah yes – your reprehensible boyfriend and his sordid deviancy – I think that was his last assessment of the situation, although I have heard him say worse…" She gives Lily a wicked smile.  "Oh, you did both upset him so. Much to the amusement of several of our colleagues.  He does rather go on, you see, does Alastor."

" _Several_ colleagues?"

"Yes, several.  Unfortunately, Lily, good ruses – and this, if I may say so, was a spectacular one – often have unintended consequences.  Now," she says, as they prepared to walk back through the main offices, "keep close to me, and for Merlin's sake, keep quiet."

* * *

Lucius stokes the fire, and then sits back in his ostentatious leather armchair.  Severus is rather more awkward in his, the increasing warmth from the fire making it a little too warm to sit in comfortably. 

_Is this what hell feels like?_ he wonders, as he watches the shadows flicker over Lucius' face.

"To our continued fortune," Lucius says, lifting his glass in a toast.  

"Our continued fortune," echoes Severus, copying the action and then taking a sip from his glass.  The gifted alcohol is truly glorious – floral and caramel and salt and earth; Lucius wasn't wrong when he identified that his personal firewhisky collection was Severus' favourite aspect of visiting the manor.

"Now, Severus, I wanted to tell you how pleased I was that you followed my previous instructions to the letter."  He appraises the younger man over his glass.  "And you went above and beyond!  Removing four of your cauldrons was a particularly wonderful touch."

Severus pauses, his hand frozen in mid-air.  "Sorry, Malf, I didn't quite catch what you-"

"You heard me," he says, more coldly.  "I said that removing the cauldrons from your flat was inspired.  And was it not beautifully fortunate, given the auror visit just a few short hours after your letter reached my hands?  Crouch was incredibly unhappy that the contents of your flat meant that you fell into the realm of plausible apprentice rather than suspicious brewer."  His crocodile smile grew once more. "Although we both know that had you not followed my requests to the letter, the evidence around you would've condemned you as an unequivocal criminal."

Severus' mind races with the information that Lucius is providing.   _Did he call the aurors to verify I'd complied fully with his request?_ He feels sick – _was that my punishment?_ – and there's a tingling in his wrists – _don't think about Arisean, don't think about Arisean_.  Instead, he forces himself to smile casually, to sip gracefully from his glass, and to present a composed front.  "The aurors gave you a report, did they?" he asks, feigning nonchalance.  

"Of a kind."  Lucius sniffs.  "It's an incredibly leaky place, the auror office, if you know where to stand to catch the drips."  There's a long pause, as if he's deciding something, and then – decision apparently made – he abruptly stands.  "In fact," he says, "I wanted to congratulate you on this."  

Severus resists the urge to twist in his seat to peer at whatever Lucius is digging out of his desk. The sickening feeling building in the base of his stomach won't abate, but he tries not to think about it.  After all, it's not just tonight – it's been building for weeks now.  It's been weeks since he was last able to speak freely to Lily, weeks of fearing being followed, and weeks since he could relax in his own home.

There's a sudden hiss of static across the room, and then a recorded voice begins to speak.

_"Which do you prefer?  Top lip or bottom?"_

_"I can't see a difference."_

His head jerks – the voices are familiar, but a little soft and a tad grainy, and try as he might, he can't quite place them.  

"Can't hear?" calls Lucius. "Not clear enough?  Here, let me turn it up."

_"You can't see a difference?  One shade of lipstick is bright red, and the other's sort of nude."_

_"Nude?  Now we're talking."_

_"Sev, be serious."_

Upon hearing his name, it falls into place, and he jumps out of his seat.  "Malf?"  His firewhisky spills on his robes as he darts across the room.  "Malf, turn it off.  Malf!"

_"Then come closer, love.  Let me look at your pretty mouth.  And what colour is on this lip?"_

_"Cherry Bomb."_

_"Mmm?"_

_"Don't!  You're smudging it."_

"Malf, seriously, plea-"

"Severus, hush now, you're going to miss all of the best parts."  Lucius smirks at him, watching Severus' aghast look as the record spins on the gramophone.  

"Malfoy, don't do this-"

"Don't do what?" he says, feigning innocence.  "Ah!  You want me to stop it?"  

"Yes."

Lucius offers a laugh of pure pleasure in response.  "Really, Severus.  You think that if I lift the needle, it's going to be all over?  That I can unhear what I've already listened to oh, at least twenty times?"

_"And this one?  On your bottom lip?  What's this?"_

_"It's called Sweet Nectar.  Severus, stop, you're smearing it-"_

_"-looks better now.  I like it more like this.  It reminds me of after-"_

_"I was asking you a genuine question."_

Severus stands stiffly, his feet fixed to the spot.  All he can do is stare at the record spinning endlessly, round and round and round, and listen as the speaker booms the obscene words – _his_ obscene words – around the room.  He grips the back of the chair, steadying himself, and Lucius grins wickedly at the sight of his severe discomfort.

_"I'm sorry, I'm sorry.  I am taking you seriously."_

_"Good."_

_"But to be scientific about it-"_

_"You don't need to be that serious.  It's just lipstick."_

_"No, no, we do need to test how they'll hold up to the rigours of the day-"_

"Listen now, listen carefully!  This, Severus, this is my very favourite part," Lucius says, leaning forward to turn the volume up.

_"-so before I'll let you wrap those pretty painted lips-"_

"Fuck's sake, Lucius! Turn it off!"

_"-you need to beg me for it.  Beg me to slide my cock betwe-"_

He can't take anymore.  Before he can think his actions through, Severus yanks the arm from the record, and a screeching howl rips through the speaker as the needle scrapes across the surface of the black disc.  He stares at the still spinning record in horror, his chest heaving and his arms trembling.

"You listened to rather more than I thought you would," Lucius chuckles.  "Not as much as I did this afternoon, mind.  Do thank your good lady for her excellent performance, for I had the most-"

"Where did you even get that?"

Lucius stops the player, and lifts the record, sliding it back into a paper covering and placing it carefully into his desk.  "I knew that like any Slytherin worth his salt, you would be concerned following the auror visit," he says, smoothly.  "We both know they have a nasty reputation for bugging the homes of suspected criminals, so I thought I would investigate for you.  Help you to allay your fears."  His lips quirk into a grin.  "I suppose we could say that this was an unexpected fringe benefit."  He peers at Severus, who is fully trembling with barely suppressed rage.  "I really didn't take you for the vocal sort.  Or the Mudblood for that matter – what an utterly _filthy_ mouth she has.  Still, it's always the shy ones-"

"I want that record."

"Really? Unfortunately, Severus, it has become a firm favourite in this study in a very short space of time.  I can see it being played-"

"I'm not messing around, Malfoy."  Severus swallows tightly.  "I respect you, and I appreciate everything you've done for me, but that's…different.  It's personal."

" _Personal_?  Really?  You know, I hear you're quite the talk of the auror department," Lucius says, moving behind his desk, and then yanking the drawer back open.  He lifts out the record, spinning it over between his hands.  "I really was most impressed.  They were hoping for something – _anything_ – on you.  A lead.  A hint.  A clue.  A whisper of your associates, or your business dealings.  And instead, you gave them eighteen days of wall-to-wall hardcore audio pornography.  Better than anything you can get in Knockturn, I dare say.  There's a certain _je ne sais quoi_ ," he smirks, "when the participants aren't paid or performing to a script."  With that, he stalks around the desk, and presses the record into Severus' hands. "Take it.  You've earned it."

The words almost stick in his throat, but he daren't fall out of the older man's favour until he's left with the record safely in his possession.  "Thank you, Malf.  I appreciate it."

"Think nothing of it," he says, dismissively.  "Thank _you_ for your quick thinking."  He picks up his firewhisky and drains the glass.  "I know you're embarrassed now, but this entire act – from start to finish – was inspired.  Keeping the ruse going for so long has silenced even your most ardent critics.  I _am_ impressed."  He smiles.  "You'll be pleased to hear that thanks to your performances, the aurors have little justification in continuing their surveillance of your property.  I believe the bugs will be removed shortly.  Continue your behaviour – for any deviation at this late hour will arouse suspicion – and I shall inform you when normal brewing service can resume."

"Yes, Malf."  He glances at the grandfather clock in the corner.  "It's late.  I should probably be getting back."

"Yes, yes, go," Lucius says, waving his hand and sounding bored.  As Severus nears the door, Lucius speaks up once more.  "Oh, and Severus?"  

Severus pauses, his hand gripping the handle, and calls over his shoulder.  "Yes, Malf?"

"I won't charge you for the recording, but you _do_ owe me a new needle."


	13. A mutually beneficial relationship

She stares at the small grey devices, astonished that such insignificant looking items were responsible for wreaking such harm across her relationship.

"Impressive, aren't they?"

"It's not quite what I was thinking," she admits, prodding one with the tip of her wand.  "So, how do they work?"

"These are the receivers," Amelia explains.  "The transmitters are identical in both shape and size, and are located in your flat.  When not in use, the two parts snap together," and she picks one up, indicating to a groove.  "The ones in your flat have the matching tongue.  Only the correct two halves will connect together."  She smiles.  "Saves mishaps."

Lily turns one of the tiny grey devices over in her hand.  It's quite small, but not impossible to see, and she racks her brains to try and work out where they might have been placed.  "And where are they?  In the flat, I mean."

"I can't tell you," Amelia says.  

"Because the next time you spy on us, we'll know where to look?"  When Amelia doesn't answer, Lily looks irritated.  "Hardly the basis for a positive working relationship going forward," she presses.

"At the moment," Amelia warns, "we have no working relationship.  We have no handshake."

"The devices haven't been destroyed," Lily immediately throws back.  "All this proves is that they exist, and as Alastor was at such pains to point out, we'd guessed that already."

"How?"  Amelia stares at her evenly, and then sighs.  "I think I've shown a significant amount of trust towards you tonight, Lily.  I don't think it's unreasonable to expect a little in return."

Lily shakes her head.  "It's not that I won't tell you," she admits, "it's that I don't know.  Severus was convinced, and I-"

"Did exactly what he told you?"

"I _trusted_ him," she says, angrily.  "I know you all don't think much of him, but believe me, I've heard it all before - off people I admire far more than you."

Amelia gives her a searching look.  "And yet not one of these people you admire far more than me has convinced you that you might be mistaken in your faith?"

"I don't know you, and you certainly don't know him."  Lily leans across the desk, a real steel in her eyes.  "Do you want me to be frank?"

"I prefer it."  She meets Lily's gaze.  "There is no point dancing around a topic.  We are off the record after all."

"My boyfriend would be better off without me."  

Amelia scoffs.  "I find that hard to believe.  Going by this," and she taps the file, "you're exceptionally talented, and I can see for myself that you're intelligent.  Your dedication to your boyfriend proves how loyal you are.  You're magically adept, you're sensible, you're attractive, an-"

"And it counts for nothing in this world!" she practically yells.  "My _blood_ is what I am judged on, and thanks to me, _his_ status is constantly questioned.  His mentors pity him-"

"-then they're not worth-"

"Of course they are!"  Lily glares at her.  "I'd appreciate it if you didn't patronise me. I would've assumed an Order member would be more understanding about the realities of being outcast the way that I am."

Amelia looks a little wounded.  "Some of the discrimination that you've been facing - we can look into it, get you a sponsor-"

"It's not just me.  What about the other Muggleborns who haven't got such an offer?  The Ministry knows that I lost my apprenticeship months ago, and that I haven't worked since, because they were the ones that fired me!  Aberforth wouldn't even risk hiring me to wash glasses, not least because of the scandal surrounding my departure, and with the Ministry's latest set of wonderful laws, I can't even go to the shops!  And Severus' reaction to all of this?  He tells me it doesn't matter.  That he loves me, and that's all that counts.  Some days," and now she's speaking so quickly, so furiously, small flecks of spittle are shooting from her lips, "he's out of the flat for fourteen hours, working every minute he can spare, all so he can afford for us to live together, despite me bringing nothing in.  So to answer your question, _no_ , not one of those people has ever managed to convince me!  With every day that I spend with him, the more convinced I am that he - _and he alone_ \- has my very best interests at heart."

Amelia gives her a curious look.  "...and tell me, Lily, what does your supportive partner think of you being a member of the Order?"

 

* * *

 

It's funny, really, how the smallest of incidents are the ones that end up sticking in your memory whilst grand moments – the moments you spend days and weeks and months building up to – completely fade away.   She'd expected to forget some things.  It's not really a surprise that she can't remember much about Herbology classes, or even the full name of the teacher she had for Defence Against the Dark Arts in the second year, but it's disconcerting to realise that she can't remember her seventh birthday party, or the detail of their three week family holiday in the Alps, or what her parents bought her for Christmas when she was fourteen.

But she has lost count of how many times she's recalled a trifling argument that she had with Petunia as a teenager.  In itself, it was hardly surprising, as barely a week went by without one of the Evans sisters screaming at the other.  Yet, of all of the thousands of arguments she had with her older sister, the Night of the Black Dress – as Lily herself has now dubbed it – was small and relatively insignificant, but it's the one that she'll never forget.  

It wasn't even an argument, really – certainly not a screaming fit, or a shouting match, or the type of disagreement that caused her father to intervene whilst her mother hurriedly closed the windows, and quickly slid a classical record on to mask the sounds of her squabbling teenage daughters.  Instead, it was Petunia's speciality – the beautifully timed and perfectly executed snide remark, so easily excused as misconstrued critique.  

 _No, Mummy_ , Petunia would say, _I wasn't being mean – I was trying to help!_

She wasn't, of course. And Lily can still envisage it now – the three of them stood there, staring at her favourite black dress, each considering Petunia's scathing words – _It's hardly black, is it?  If anything, it's a faded, washed-out, dingy grey, and I don't know why you would even think of wearing it!_ – whilst she stamped off to gather evidence to prove her point.  When Petunia swanned back into the room holding her brand new black blouse and held it up to compare to Lily's old dress, proving her point that the dress was no longer the deep shade of black that it had been, their mother had been forced to agree with Petunia – albeit with a hint of reluctance.  

At least Daddy had bought her a new dress.  But that wasn't the part that Lily remembered.  What Lily learnt from the debacle was that everyone saw things very differently, especially when they were seeing something for the first time.  Mummy had agreed, and had patiently – between wiping away Lily's gulping sobs and holding her shaking shoulders – explained how she never saw the line of dust on the top of the picture frames in the hallway, but Grandma Evans always pointed it out when she visited.  

 _I have to take a step back,_ her mother had said, _and pretend as if I'm seeing the room for the first time.  That's when I suddenly see what needs cleaning, or vacuuming, or mending, or painting.  We all just walk past it otherwise, because we're used to it.  It's not out of the ordinary._

It's this memory that springs to mind when Lily opens the front door to their flat and sees Severus curled up on the sofa.  If she didn't know better, she'd have assumed he was naked – his black shorts only becoming apparent when he shifts position, straining to see who is standing behind his girlfriend.  

"I thought you were chucking those awful shorts out," she says, trying not to flush with embarrassment at his state of disarray.  She glances back at Amelia, and although Amelia's expression isn't betraying her thoughts, Lily has noted her disapproval – she can feel how the older woman has stiffened in stature at the sight of Lily's boyfriend – and at this very moment, she doesn't see her loving boyfriend.  Instead, she suddenly sees exactly what Amelia sees.  

The Severus sitting before them isn't impressive at all.  He's not the silky voice that the aurors have been listening to, his sultry tones encouraging her into debauchery.  He's not the devious and dastardly potions brewer, who has been giving the aurors the runaround whilst he peddles his wares to the unsuspecting magical masses.  He's not the brilliant mind or the astute thinker who knew exactly how to pull the wool over everyone's eyes.  

No.  He's just a boy.  And not a particularly attractive one at that.  In the position he's in, all crunched up on the sofa, all she can see are severe angles; porcelain white skin marred with uneven streaks of black body hair, and his pointed joints highlighted by bright red staining – knees and ankles, elbows and knuckles, and the prominent bridge of his nose.

"Da give ‘em me for Christmas," he says, eventually, his accent thicker than ever.  It always is when he's blind drunk.  It's then that she spies the firewhisky bottle on the mantel, its contents dwindled to below the bottom of the label.  He must've drunk half of it at least, if not three-quarters.  He sucks in a breath, and then points his almost empty glass towards Amelia.  "Friend or foe?"  Then he gives a strained, horrible laugh and before anyone can answer, he answers his own question in a loud declaration.  "Foe!"  

"Severus-"

"Foe!" he says, decisively, his tone brooking no challenge.  "Foe.  She's a foe."  He stands, almost stumbling, and slams the glass on the mantel.  "I know she's a foe coz we ain't got any friends left, love."

 

* * *

Lily watches as the older woman connects the two halves of each device together, and then she casts.  The tiny grey devices smoulder, burn black and finally thump onto the table. 

"May I?" she asks, and when Amelia nods, Lily picks one up.  It's warm to the touch, and smells faintly of burning - like a bonfire on November fifth - with a tinge of sulphur.  She shakes it, and as if in protest, it crumbles into a fine powder.  "Oh!"

"It's okay," Amelia reassures her, waving her hand over the rest, causing them to disintegrate in a similar fashion.  "It happens when they're decommissioned."  She produces a small container from her robes, and sweeps the remains of the devices into it, waving away Lily's confused look.  "Decommissioned or not, they have to be accounted for.  If they're not logged and filed, the assumption will be that you found them and disposed of them yourself, and then replacements will be automatically requested."

The two exchange a look, and Lily knows that this woman has the measure of both her and Severus; knows that the pair of them have spent weeks silently searching the flat, their fingers sliding along every surface, and poking into every nook and cranny.  Despite their efforts, the search had been fruitless.  Lily had assumed that there was some variety of cloaking spell or invisibility charm cast upon them, and neither she nor Severus had dared experiment with any spells to reveal them, lest the wrong spell arouse unwanted attention from the aurors.  

Now that they've been removed, she can't help but gaze around the flat, wondering where the hateful listening devices had been secreted for all of these weeks.

"I'm sorry," Amelia says.  Her interruption comes so suddenly, it's as if she's reading Lily's mind.  "I can't tell you where they were placed.  Our deal was that I would remove them."

"Just…" Lily looks sickened, "…please tell me they weren't in the bathroom?"

"We do have standards."  Amelia gives her a sympathetic look.  "Well, we do at this early stage of an investigation, put it that way.  Next time, perhaps…"

Lily doesn't want to think about next time.  "And that's it now?" she asks.  "That's the case closed?  Because…"

"Because?"

"It wasn't just the devices, was it?  We were followed."

Amelia nods.  "And are you?"  At Lily's confused look, she continues.  "I assume you are aware that there was an occasion when the aurors followed you, due to Alastor's mention of your supposed pregnancy?  So, are you?  Pregnant?"

Lily shakes her head.  She wasn't.  There was never any chance of it – she takes both Muggle oral contraception, and a potion that Severus brews religiously for her.  His bizarre choice of conversation that night, she had later realised, was yet another ruse.  He was checking whether they'd been followed - checking to see if the aurors were listening in on their plans and acting upon any comments they made in the flat.  The aurors' decision to follow them that night had verified that Severus' hunch was correct.   _Meet me in the Broomsticks at six_ , Severus had said, _there's a few things I want to discuss_.  And so she had, and they'd had company, so he had pulled a outwardly plausible topic from thin air instead of really talking to her - and they'd continued like that for almost three weeks, with not a genuine conversation passing between their lips.

At the confirmation, Amelia gives a wry smile and glances at the closed bedroom door that Severus had long since retreated through.  "He is a clever boy, if a little-"

"He's not normally like this," Lily interrupts.  "We've been under a lot of stress with the new Ministry laws, and-"

"Yes, I had gathered that his conduct tonight was…somewhat of an exception."  Amelia looks at her critically whilst tidying her own robes, and glancing around the flat.  "He was not quite the man that I have heard-" Lily flushes at the insinuation, but Amelia pointedly shakes her head before quickly continuing, "-heard so much about."

"No.  I suppose he was not."

She stands, her manner brusque once more.  "Now, if this is to be done properly, without arousing unnecessary suspicion, I must return and fill in the required forms before the absence of the devices is noted."  She stows her wand, and holds her hand out.  "We still have much to discuss, Lily, but I trust that my actions tonight mark the start of a mutually beneficial relationship?"

"Yes," Lily says, shaking Amelia's hand.  "Thank you."

Her eyes track back to the bedroom door.  "And perhaps I could be properly introduced to your young man at a later date, if he is so amenable?"

Lily nods again, and then gives a slightly watery smile.  "If he is so amenable."  


	14. Antidote

It's hours later when she finally enters their bedroom, and despite him lying so he's facing away from her - facing the wall - she can tell that he's still awake.  She slides into her side of their bed, and when she cuddles up behind him, he's clammy and sweaty - the unmistakable cost of drowning his sorrows earlier that evening - and he shifts uncomfortably at her touch.  She pauses momentarily, and when he finally settles, she wraps her arms around him and steadily moves her hands lower until her fingers are toying with the waistband of his shorts.  Suddenly, as if he's been burnt, his back clenches and his whole body tightens.

"Sev?"

"Don't," he says, trying to wriggle out of her grip.  "We don't have to do this.  Not tonight."

"I know we don't _have_ to," she says, her fingers halting.  He huffs an indignant breath, but doesn't stop her when she moves her hands back up to safer territory.  She softly skates the tips of her fingers across his bare chest, reaching down his arms and eventually sliding her fingers between his own.  "But we _can_ if we want.  And Severus, I very much want." 

"I said no." 

His words sting.  He's never rejected her before.  It took him a long time, when they first started dating, to initiate any sort of contact.  Even when they were tentatively skirting around each other, their hormones raging and their close friendship on the cusp of becoming more, it was all Lily's doing – it was her hand that snaked into his, her arms that wrapped around his torso, her lips that brushed against his cheek.

His cautious nature was no surprise; he was hounded at school, and belittled at home, and she can remember the way he used to lie on her bed back in Cokeworth, his arms behind his head, pretending that he wasn't staring at her as she moved around her room.  She knew he was – she _knew_ he was covertly watching her via the reflection in her dressing table mirror.  She knew this, because if she caught the angle just right, she could watch him in her mirror too.  And as he would gaze at her, his jaw would slacken, and his lips would slowly – almost reluctantly – quirk upwards, and she knew he was completely entranced.  It was a heady feeling – being desired, being wanted. 

So then she'd turn, trying to catch him in the act, and he'd look away, pretending he was fascinated – and had been all along – by the skin next to his fingernail.  He'd ignore her completely, picking at the skin until it bled.  Then she'd lie with him, her ear resting against his chest, and she'd clasp his fingers, stopping him from picking at them.  Slowly, gently, she'd wipe away the smear of blood, and then she'd pull his fingertips to her lips, and kiss them with a tenderness that made his heart jackhammer beneath her ear.  And then she'd let go, and glance up at him – and he'd be openly looking at her, _really_ looking at her, and it'd always be with the same expression of wonderment, as if he'd been kicking through the undergrowth at the riverbank for hours, and suddenly, he'd unearthed a precious metal. 

When they weren't alone, it was as if he was waiting for someone to rebuke him – to tell him to put her down, to stop wasting her time, to let her move on to someone better, someone worthier.  As if he was expecting McGonagall to call him up to her study in Gryffindor Tower, or for Dumbledore to summon him to the Headmaster's Office, and quietly – but firmly – explain that the likes of Lily Evans were not for him, and he was to break up with her at once.  For years, she'd watch him scanning any room they entered together, his scrawny chest pushed out and his stomach tensed, as if preparing for an inevitable fight. 

But the fight never came.  She'd chosen him, and he'd chosen her, and although there had been arguments – arguments with his parents, and arguments with her parents, and arguments with Petunia and both Black brothers and Mary and Lucius and Marlene and Narcissa and James and… Well, there had been arguments with almost everyone she could think of, but none of the arguments mattered in the end.  If anything, it pushed the two of them closer together; the pair of them against the world.  And eventually – finally! – _he_ reached for her hand, and _he_ wrapped his arms around her, and _he_ kissed her lips, and one night, with the sash window cracked open in his bedroom and the curtains still wide open and the stars casting a glow across the ceiling, he'd pulled her down onto his bed, and he'd made the first move from beginning to end, and they'd not looked back since. 

So, no.  He'd never actively turned her down.  Until tonight.  They lie in an awkward, uncomfortable silence – she doesn't pull away from him at his unusual refusal, nor does he push her from him, but she doesn't understand his reluctance – and then she suddenly realises that he doesn't know the reason why they had a visitor.

"Sev, it's ok," she says, softly, "Amelia's got rid of them."

"Got rid of what?"

"The listening devices."

He immediately turns to look at her, his body twisting awkwardly.  "That witch was an auror?"  He drops his head heavily against the pillow.  "Bloody hell, you waltzed right in here with her, and I could've been doing anything!"

"You could _not_ have been doing anything," she says, acidly.  "Half of the auror department was already effectively in here – as you well know.  You wouldn't have been doing anything other than reading a book, or filling in a crossword, or," and now her voice is getting louder, "getting blind bloody drunk on your lonesome because for weeks they've been hanging on to our every word and listening to our every action-"

"All right, all right!  I know what they've been doing, you don't have to go on about it-"

" _I_ don't have to go on about it?"  She's incredulous now, and she props herself up on an elbow, prodding him angrily in the ribs.  "All of this was your idea, remember?"

"I know."  He's gritting his teeth, and he looks furious.  "You don't need to remind me."

"Yes, well, Severus," she spits, "a little bit of gratitude wouldn't be amiss.  You don't have to treat me like I'm some sort of fallen woman, or damaged goods-" 

"I'm not!"

She turns away from him, as she continues to speak, "-and if what we did these past few weeks means you no longer find me attractive-"

At her words, his eyes widen and his jaw slackens.  "Fucking hell, is that what you really think?"  He reaches for her chin and gently tilts it so she's looking at him again.  "Lil," and his voice is softer now, "for Merlin's sake, don't say things like that.  Of _course_ I find you attractive.  You're gorgeous, and brilliant, and you're the best – the _best_ – thing that's ever happened to me."

"…really?"

" _Ever_ ," he says, emphatically.

"…so what is it then?" she asks, her voice trembling as she speaks.  There's a long pause, but she refuses to let the matter drop, her green eyes staring furiously at him.  "Why don't you want me?" 

It takes him an age to reply.  "I feel guilty, all right?" he says, sharply, dropping his hand from her face and glancing awkwardly away.  "Guilty that I didn't protect you properly, guilty that I made you do such-"

"You didn't _make_ me; I agreed.  We did this for each other, didn't we?"  At his sudden blurted confession, her eyes have softened.  "To protect each other?"

"Come here."  His voice is gruff as he pulls her into his embrace, and he wraps the covers tightly around them, as if shielding them both from the outside world.  He kisses her forehead, just along her hairline, and she sighs as he wraps his long legs around her own, trapping her beneath his warm weight.  After a few minutes of settled silence, he speaks.  "They've definitely all gone then?  The devices?"

"Definitely.  I saw them disintegrate.  All of them."

"Good," he says, closing his eyes.  "Well done, love."

* * *

He's tossing and turning, and she rolls away from him – partly to avoid being struck by his flailing limbs, but partly because he feels like a furnace.  She pulls at the bed covers, but he holds them fast, even though he's burning up and completely covered in sweat. 

"Sev?"  She jabs her finger into the skin just below his collarbone.  "Sev, wake up."

He grunts as she tenderly runs her hand across his forehead, gauging his rising temperature and then tries again to pull the covers from his torso.  Despite the heat coming off his body, she can see the tops of his arms are covered in goose pimples, and he grumbles unintelligibly, grasping for the sheets. 

She watches him for a long moment, deciding what to do, and then heads out of the bedroom.  She returns a moment later with a glass of water and a murky potion.  "Sev?" she says, kneeling down by his side of the bed.  "Sev!"

His voice is thick and slurred.  "What?"

"Drink this," she orders, tipping the vial towards his lips.  "You need it."

He huffs and groans, and he throws his arm over his eyes as she helps him to tip his head back.  He grimaces as the thick brew coats his throat, and he grasps blindly at his bedside table, searching for a drink.

"Give it a minute," she says, taking his hand and softly stroking it.  "Let it take effect, and then have some water.  I've got some here for you."

* * *

She wakes again at five when he stumbles out of the bed for the toilet.  She doesn't register him leave their bedroom, but she hears him in the bathroom – he clatters against the bath, and the cupboard, and then there's an almighty thump and a muffled groan, and a flurry of hissed obscenities.  Then there's a spray of something, and a gush of water, and a repeated clinking, as if he's knocked over all of their toiletries. 

"Sorry," he mutters, when he carefully makes his way back into the room.  "I whacked my foot against the pedestal of the basin."

She winces in sympathy.  "It's okay.  How are you feeling, toes aside?"

He gives her a wry smile as he settles back under the duvet.  "Lucky."

"Lucky?"

"Lucky that you thought to give me that antidote," he admits, "else I'd be as sick as a dog now.  I really need to devote time to creating a hangover cure – I'd make a fortune out of idiots like me."  

She reaches for him – and to her relief, he's right, her dosing him with a generic poison antidote has worked.  His temperature has regulated, and he's no longer sweating profusely, and he happily coils his body around her.  

"I've missed you," he says, nestling his nose into the back of her hair.  "I've missed _us_."

She turns to kiss him, tangling her tongue against his, but she falters when she tastes spearmint.  "You've brushed your teeth," she says, pushing away from him slightly, but he holds her tight.  "Stop, I've got morning breath."

"Don't care."

"Sev, I must taste horrid," but he ignores her protest, and as she wriggles in his arms, she can smell their soap, and his deodorant, and she realises now what took him so long in the bathroom.  "You're clean, and I'm-"

"Perfect as you are," he says, smoothly rolling atop her, his forearms braced against the mattress either side of her shoulders, and the duvet sliding down his back, eventually resting on his hips.  "Let me show you," he says, pressing his lips firmly against her jaw, trailing soft kisses down her neck, and caressing his way leisurely down her sternum, "that I'm sorry."

"Sev, you don't ne-"

"Order me to stop then," he challenges, amusement tinging his voice, and his breath hot against her skin, "and I will."  

Her back arches, and she gasps, and he pauses for a brief moment.  As she glances down, she can just see his left eyebrow starting to lift, wondering if she's going to make him cease.  

There's a silent momentary standoff, with neither making a sound, and then his lips buzz pleasurably against her stomach.  "Mmmmm?  Should I stop?"

She falls completely silent at his prompt, fearful that he's going to give up.  Her whimper wasn't an objection.  In fact, it was anything but; his languid perusal of her body has sparked a coil of excitement to build within her and her feet twist against the mattress, her body arching up again, desperate for his touch, but he doesn't move.  His inaction forces her to find her voice.

"Keep going," she urges, and she feels his triumphant smile against her skin.

Emboldened by her request, he hooks his fingers around the thin strip of elastic looped around her hips, and slowly inches the soft cotton down the tops of her thighs.  

Her face burns when she hears his happy sigh, his breath blowing across her and causing her to tremble.  It feels like an eternity before he finally ducks his head beneath the covers, and when he does, she tangles her fingers in his hair, holding him firmly in place.


	15. Cross-contaminate

He isn't permitted to eat in the lab, and if Jigger catches him at it again, he'll be demoted to sweeping the floors and bleaching jars and - if his master is feeling less than benevolent and forgiving – separating toad intestines for the rest of the week.  Slicing up toads is tricky and potentially messy work, requiring a keen eye, a sharp knife and a skilled hand.  It's a task mostly given to apprentices in their early days, trying to filter out slackers, and those without either the required temperament or talent. 

Severus was hardly a slacker, nor lacking in talent and focus, although he often found in his early days of his apprenticeship, his disposition failed him.  He was prone to pushing himself too hard too fast, and erupting in fury when a potion didn't go his way – and Borage seemingly revelled in forcing him to repeat those first few weeks of tedium.  

 _Until you can control yourself, boy_ , he would intone, _you will not be permitted to brew.  As this is the fourth time in as many months that you have needlessly screamed at a Bunsen burner, you will spend the rest of this month cleaning this laboratory by hand.  I warn you, I do not wish to hear a single spell cross your lips.  And did I say you could use gloves, boy?  No?  Then take them off._

Thankfully, under Jigger, Severus had mostly left those days behind; aside from a stern punishment for being late to work three times in a month, Jigger had been comparatively relaxed – Severus' temper and smart mouth didn't seem to bother him, but eating in the lab was the sort of behaviour that he knew would earn him a severe reprimand.  

Severus glances at the window – dusk is starting to fall, and he promised Malfoy that he'd be at the Manor before sundown.  He glares back at his potion – once the colour changes to scarlet, he can add the porcupine quills, stir it rapidly for a minute, and then it's ready to decant – but he's still got to wash and tidy and restore the lab to its usual pristine condition.  And he's not even meant to still be in the lab at this hour - let alone eating his tea in here - and he most certainly isn't meant to be brewing prohibited potions. 

He watches the potion as it changes from apricot in colour to pumpkin, and he takes another bite of his sandwich just as a loud bang echoes on the other side of the door.  He looks at his sandwich – there's barely a mouthful left, and he considers clenching it in his fist and thrusting his hand up his sleeve, but his growling stomach overrides his brain, and he opts for stuffing it into his already full mouth.  He chews furiously as heavy footsteps make their way towards the lab, and when the door swings open, Severus ducks behind the bench, desperately trying to swallow the last of his meal, whilst pretending to tie his bootlace. 

"Boy?  Are you in here?"

He's still trying to gulp the sandwich down, so he doesn't respond – can't respond - and he quickly unknots both of his boots to make his story more plausible.

"No Snape?  What's this potion doing unattended, Arsenius?"

"I'm here," Severus finally says, bouncing upwards, and glancing at the potion which – thankfully, has finally bloomed into the deep scarlet he was hoping for.  "My boots…" he starts, by way of explanation, pointing at the laces.

Jigger huffs in exasperation, and shoots a spell towards his apprentice's feet, which causes the laces to knot themselves neatly.  "That's twice," he says, "don't think I'm not counting."

"Sorry, sir."

"Twice is twice too many," Jigger grumbles loudly, and Snape knows that this bombastic display is all for Slughorn's benefit, who is looking vaguely amused.  "I told you last time, if you can't tie your laces properly, I'll remove them."

"Sorry, sir," Severus says again, his ears flushing red.   _So much for that stalling trick, then._ He quickly grabs some flasks, and starts hurriedly scooping the potion into them.

"Sorry's not good enough, boy," he continues, "what if you tripped whilst carrying-"

"Now, now, don't be so harsh on him, Arsenius," interrupts Slughorn, smiling at his ex-student.  "Severus here was always…" 

Severus' neck strains with the effort of not looking up from his cauldron, of not glaring at Slughorn for whatever he's about to say, but he knows the sensible reaction is to keep on decanting his potion, as neither man is really paying any attention to what he's doing, or what he's brewed – and he's keen to keep it that way.   _C'mon, Sev,_ y _ou can handle old Sluggy mocking you_ , he thinks, _it's no worse than what you endured at school.  Tune the old fool out_.  He keeps his hand steady, carefully pouring the brew into the glasses, and efficiently capping each one. 

"…and more than a little dishevelled," Slughorn finishes.  "Although your robes are looking much more splendid these days, Severus."

"Thank you, sir."

Slughorn peers more closely at him.  "Malkin's, are they?"

"Twilfitt and Tattings, sir."

Slughorn beams again.  "Ah, yes, of course.  Young Lucius' recommendation, no doubt?"

"Narcissa's, sir," Severus says.

"Ah, of course, the lovely Narcissa Black," Slughorn says, this time almost bouncing on the balls of his feet.  "She always did have fine taste.  She visited not too long ago, and she had procured the finest box of fruit jellies that you ever laid your eyes upon.  Marvellous young lady."

"She's not Narcissa Black any more, sir.  She's Malfoy now," Severus corrects, carrying his cauldron to the sink and starting the tap.  He searches around the wash station, and then settles on a grubby looking sponge wedged between the tap and the wall. 

Jigger stamps over to a cupboard at the rear of the room, selects a new cloth from a shelf, and throws it towards his apprentice.  "Use a clean soft cloth when washing the silver cauldron, boy.  You'll only cross-contaminate."

"Sorry, sir."

"You should know better than that by now."

"Yes, sir, sorry, sir."

"I'm putting him off," Slughorn intervenes, kindly.  "Severus was always most particular about his equipment when he was at school."

"Yes, well, pity he's not a little more particular with mine," Jigger grumbles, settling himself heavily against a bench, watching keenly as Severus washes the cauldron out.  "So, that's who young Lucius married, is it?  One of the Black family?"

"Yes, and what a charming young girl she is," Slughorn enthuses.

"Well, her robes might be in fine taste, but she could do better when it comes to her taste in men," Jigger lazily observes.

"Oh, I don't know," laughs Slughorn, "Lucius is a gentleman, of course, and she could've done worse.  For instance, I do believe young master Snape here had his eye that way for a while, didn't you, Severus?" 

He's glad he's got his back to Slughorn and Jigger, because he can almost feel the nudge between the two men.  He knows that both of them will be highly amused at Slughorn's teasing – although Jigger's amusement will be far nastier than Slughorn's, who is just a bumbling fool; well-meaning, and a little eccentric.  Jigger, on the other hand… 

Severus ignores the pair, and scrubs the cauldron furiously, pushing the thought of them laughing at him – laughing at the sheer insanity of him desiring a Pureblood like Narcissa Black, laughing at the bare faced impudence of him, a poor Halfblood, daring to think that a woman like Narcissa Black would be remotely interested in him – right to the back of his brain.

And then Jigger's pressed up behind him, his breath acrid on Severus' cheek, and his voice dangerously low.  "Professor Slughorn asked you a question, boy.  I suggest you answer him."

Severus stops the tap, and sidesteps Jigger, moving swiftly away from the sink.  He turns to face the two older men, and bows his head slightly, muttering a drying charm to stop his hands from dripping water onto the floor.  "Forgive me, sir, I wasn't concentrating.  Professor, I apologise, I was cleaning the cauldron, and I couldn't hear you over the water."

"Ahh," Slughorn says, looking a little uncomfortable at his friend's menacing manner, and the overt display of deference from his old student, "it was something and nothing.  Just a little lighthearted jesting-"

"We were talking about the boy's delightful friend, Lucius Malfoy," Jigger chips in, "if that prompts your memory, Horace?"

"Oh yes, that does remind me, Master," Severus hurriedly interrupts, before Slughorn can raise the topic of Narcissa once more, "Lucius has invited me tonight – well, now in fact – and I am expected…"

"Well, by rights, Severus," Slughorn gives a curious look at Jigger, and pointedly pulls out his pocket-watch, "you shouldn't even still be in the workplace at this hour of-"

"Well, then go, boy!" Jigger quickly interjects, banishing the rest of the items from Severus' workstation to the back of the room.  "You can clear those tomorrow.  First thing."

"Yes, sir.  Thank you, sir," he says, grabbing the flasks and pushing them into his satchel, and checking his laces before he leaves. 

"And boy!"

"Sir?"

"Don't be late again, else you'll be doing nothing but pickling newt livers for the rest of the month."

* * *

He doesn't mean to eavesdrop.  He loops his satchel over his head and across his shoulders, casting a muffling charm against the clinking bottles, and he's out of the door and down the cobbled street, relieved to be away from the two hateful men – but as he turns a corner, he feels the cold wind whipping round his ears and down his neck, and he realises he's left his cloak in the lab.

He pauses, wondering whether to go back or to leave it until the morning – although he wouldn't put it past Jigger to peevishly throw it out.  He glances up at the sky, and he sees that between the thick clouds, it's still just about light – if he runs, there's just enough time to retrieve it and still get to Malfoy's without being shouted at.  He sprints back to Jigger's, and with the outside door still on the latch, he pushes his way in and carefully creeps his way over towards the lab, hoping his footsteps don't announce his presence.

When he presses his ear to the door, he doesn't expect to overhear their conversation; he's simply checking to see if they've retired to the comfort of Jigger's sitting room, meaning he can whip in and grab his cloak.  But he's out of luck, and instead, he can hear Sluggy wittering away.

"Yes, well, you know what Libatius is like.  I've always found the boy quite likeable, myself."

"Unfortunate background notwithstanding, of course."

"Arsenius," Slughorn sounds disappointed, "not you as well.  His mother is Pure, remember."

"Yes, but his father's a Muggle, and as for his muddy bit on the side-"

"Arsenius!"

Severus grits his teeth, but presses his ear harder against the wood – he's hardly surprised, at either Jigger's disparaging stance, or Slughorn's open disapproval at his friend's bigotry.  He may have presided over Slytherin House whilst its students openly advocated for the complete eradication of Muggles, but for all his faults, Sluggy himself didn't discriminate based on blood.  He was far too pragmatic for such distasteful political views.  And like all of the professors at Hogwarts, he'd always had a soft spot for Lily.

"She's a lovely and talented girl," Slughorn enthuses.  "Vivacious.  Cheeky.  Charming.  Such a delight to teach.  She would've done wonderfully well in Slytherin, if only-"

Jigger scoffs.  "Horace, really-"

"No, Arsenius, I know these are difficult times for us all, but you mustn't judge without meeting her."  And then the tone of his voice changes.  "And not that I should really say such things, but incredibly pretty, as well, you understand.  Had half the boys in the school falling all over her.  Ah, to be fifty years younger-"

Severus grimaces, feeling a little sick – and then realises he's lost track of the conversation.  Jigger's voice is unclear, as if he's turned away or is bending down, and Severus pushes his face even harder against the door, desperate to hear his mentor's words, but he only catches the end of a sentence.  "…doing with that lanky oik, then?"

"And there is the mystery!" boomed Slughorn, with a chuckle in his throat.  "Hidden talents?"

"Well hidden, if you ask me."

"Ah, Arsenius, don't be so hard on the young man.  She's certainly stuck by him over the years - and he's quite the quirky personality once you…" and then Slughorn's voice fades.  Severus strains, but he can't pick the thread back up again – instead there's a pause, and some mumbling, and then all he can make out are odd words as Slughorn's voice fades in and out, as if he's moving around at the back of the room. 

"…times, of…yes, well, and then she'd be the one…and…you'd see…quite the skill…but he's...the black and gold and oh…and a temper…clever charms…yes, yes…blunted knife and then the latest…oh ho, no no, I can't listen to such things…outrageous…where I stand…Dumbledore…the aurors, of course…meetings…fourteen cuckoos…and a cup of tea…well, you wouldn't…and apparently she was there…no, the other Black…yes, a shock to us all…Gryffindor…four of them…nasty business…can't speak of it, really…and you know…did he really ask you…had no idea…perhaps…seventeen…and it was bright blue…Pomfrey knew…no, no, not Severus, just Lily…Ministry…Mundungus Fletcher…you do know him…not as…well yes, and Amelia Bones with the two mischievous…Prewett…yes yes, you do remember…well…what can one say…"

None of it makes any sense to Severus' ears – it's just a jumble of names and words, and then, suddenly, it's as if Slughorn's standing right next to him.  "All of that aside, Arsenius, do tell me – how are you finding him?"

Jigger's voice is cool, and Severus has heard that tone before – usually when he's bartering over the price of ingredients.  "We had a deal, Horace."

"Oh, that's not why I'm asking!  No, no, you'll get your gold, as agreed.  Call it…personal interest.  He was one of mine, after all."

There's a very long pause, as if Jigger's considering his words.  "Your reputation is intact, Horace, have no fear.  …the boy is quite skilled.  A little sloppy around the edges, and far too emotional for his own good, but he's got an eye for it – and we both know how rare instinct is."  There's another pause.  "I'm surprised Libatius let him go, frankly."

"Yes, well, with the-"

"I know what he did," Jigger says, loudly.  "Nasty business all round.  But really, Horace, I don't know what Libatius was thinking.  He's a slip of a boy – barely even a wizard where blood counts-"

"-well Arseni-"

"-so there's ways of keeping him quiet.  Making him…agreeable.  You understand me, I am sure." 

Severus feels colder than ever at Jigger's dark words - _ways of keeping me quiet?_ \- but he keeps his face pressed against the wood, keener than ever to hear what else the two old friends have to say.

"Be careful, Arsenius," warns Slughorn, his voice a little lower, "he might not have the same connections as a Nott or a Longbottom, but just look at his behaviour tonight."

Jigger gives a snort of derision.  "Oh, he was showing off, that's all. Lucius Malfoy inviting him to his Manor?  Who'd believe that?"

"On the contrary, Lucius has taken a very close interest in Severus since he started at Hogwarts.  The lad used to trail after him from morning 'til night-"

Jigger's words are muffled, but Severus can tell that his tone is derisive.

"You may mock, Arsenius," Slughorn says, coolly, "but I'll warn you that Lucius became _very_ attached to his little fan club.  Oh yes, you've heard the boy – yes sir, no sir, three bags full, sir – and if there's one thing that young Mr Malfoy appreciates, it's a healthy dose of respect."

"Him and his father both."

"Ah yes, speaking of whom, I'm glad you've mentioned Abraxas-"

"I'm not," mutters Jigger.  "He still owes me for…Horace, tell me, can you hear something?"

And Severus doesn’t have the opportunity to find out what Abraxas Malfoy had procured, because he's sprinting out of the door, and down the dark and empty street. 


	16. Dumb creatures

He sits on the gravel path, his legs crossed, and his satchel in his lap.  He'd stood for the first hour, but having been on his feet all day at work, his legs had started to protest, and even though he's finally sat down, there's still a dull ache creeping up the back of his hamstrings.  Knowing Malfoy the way he does, Severus is certain he'll purposely keep him here until sun up - all under the guise of teaching him a lesson. 

There's a white pheasant which strolls around him, and Severus peers at it closely – as far as he knows, Malfoy isn't an animagus, but it's the sort of weird trick he'd employ; trying to catch him off-guard.   _Maybe I should strike it_ , he thinks, and a perverse thrill shoots through his chest at the idea of laying his hands on Malfoy – of catching him in his own trickery, and doling out a well-deserved punishment.   _I'm sick of being spied on._

He reaches out, rubbing his fingers together and beckoning the pheasant towards him.  It stops, warily, cocking its head and its feet scratch uncomfortably at the ground.  And then it chirrups at him, and he realises that it's a she – the magic Lucius has used to make his brood white has stripped away the obvious features of male and female.  He drops his hand back down in his lap, all thoughts of the creature forgotten, and stares angrily at the Manor.  It's cold without his cloak – in fact, despite the quality of his cloak, he reckons it would still be freezing with it on; it can't be more than five degrees.  The pheasant hasn't lost interest in him though, and steps a little closer before quickening into a sudden run.  Her wings flap, lifting her just off the ground and then she settles in his lap, with no idea of the danger he'd briefly posed to her. 

"What do you want, hey?" he grumbles, holding out a finger and letting her peck at the tip.  They didn't cover pheasants in Care of Magical Creatures, and he certainly didn't see any back at home in Cokeworth, so he finds himself wondering if they're meant to be left outside in the cold.  Is the bird being punished too?  His hand absently strokes the crown of her head and he casts a quick Lumos, staring at the vast grounds.  He's not quite sure what he's looking for – how do pheasants roost?  Trees?  On the ground?  Does Lucius have some sort of grand coop? 

"I leave you alone for twenty minutes-"

 _It has not been twenty minutes_ , Severus bitterly thinks.

"-and I find you molesting my pheasants."  Lucius' voice is booming, and amused, and his feet crunch loudly on the gravel as he approaches the younger man.

"I wasn't-"

"Let her be," he orders, and Severus stands, shaking the pheasant away – but she circles his feet, unwilling to depart from her new found friend. 

"It's not my fault they're tame."

"They're not tame!  They're the best hunting pheasants that money can-" and then Lucius seems to catch sight of Severus' alarmed look, and he claps him on the shoulder.  "It doesn’t matter," he says, "I'll shoot it at weekend."  This comment does nothing to reduce Severus' anxious expression, and Lucius laughs.  "Come, Severus, they're only dumb creatures.  Mustn't get too attached."

* * *

She'd always been popular, Lily.  Popular at nursery, and infant school, and junior school.  Popular at Hogwarts, despite her unorthodox taste in friends.  Popular with the teachers, popular with members of her extended family, popular even when she strolled around Cokeworth during the summer.  It came easily to her, in exactly the same way that Severus found it so difficult.  Where he was sour, she was sweet, where he was distrustful, she opened her arms, and where he was awkward, she was relaxed.

In a slightly different world, it wouldn't have been any surprise to her that members of the Order soon crowded around her; people always had.  But Lily knew that her attraction these days had nothing to do with her scintillating personality, or her kind nature – Lily knew that they were sniffing around her for what she could do for them.  It was a rather unpleasant feeling, and one that Severus had complained about a lot when he was younger – being constantly harassed for help with homework essays, or students from his house wanting him to brew so they didn't have to pay Hogsmeade's apothecary prices when they wanted a potion to help them through the exam period, or being told that he was needed as a lookout whilst some mischief was enacted or whilst an older student made out with their partner – but she'd never experienced such behaviour herself, so although she'd sympathised she'd never quite understood.

There's three of them looking for her tonight – Bones, Fletcher and Potter.  Fletcher's the easiest of the three; she knows he wants another batch of Rain Away, although he isn't going to say as much in front of an auror.  She's certain that Bones wants to talk about payment – about what's owed for her assistance – and Potter?  Potter's an eternal mystery.  Following Moody's outburst, Potter seems to have appointed himself as some sort of unwanted protector, and even when he's not stood next to her, he's looking over Black's shoulder – and at those moments, he almost reminds her of Severus; his eyes darting around the room, constantly scanning for trouble.

Fletcher and Bones stand in an uneasy silence, each waiting for the other to depart, and Lily engaging neither in conversation.  Potter seems to read her unease, and steps forward.  

"All right, Evans?"

"Potter."

"Madam Bones," he says, deferentially.  "I believe Professor Dumbledore was asking if you were still here?"

Amelia scrutinises him for a very long moment, and Lily can almost feel her breath catch.  Eventually, seemingly convinced that this interruption is truthful, Amelia nods.  "Thank you, James."  She turns to Lily.  "I would like a word before you leave," and then she disappears into the throng of witches and wizards at the centre of the room.

"So, is Dung here bothering you?"  Potter towers over the compact man, and then Black joins him, a youth on either side.  Black's face is twisted into sheer contempt; it's as if he's suddenly caught the scent of something putrid – sour milk, or rotten eggs, or raw sewage.

"There's no problem between me and Miss Evans," Mundungus says loftily, drawing himself up to his full height, which impresses none of those stood around him.  "I was just wanting a quiet word."  He glances at the two young boys, and then back at Lily.  " _Alone_."

"Yeah, I bet you want her alone," Black grins, half looking at Potter, who is unamused.  It makes her feel uneasy, this attention that Potter gives her – she knows if she'd been Marlene or Mary or Florence or even Bertha Jorkins, Potter would've joined in the laughter at Black's joke – but there's a small part of her, when she sees him glaring at the small opportunistic wizard, that's glad he's looking out for her.

"I suspect I am not the only one," snipes Mundungus, meeting Potter's angry glare and not backing down.  "How is your boyfriend?"

"James hasn't got a boyfriend," Black quips.

"I meant, of course," Mundungus says, smoothly, finally turning to Lily once again, "Miss Evans.  I haven't seen him for several weeks now."

"You know Snape?"

Mundungus ignores Potter's question, and takes Lily's hand.  "We have unfinished business, you and I, Miss Evans.  And myself with your boyfriend, if you could pass that message on.  He has been rather difficult to reach of late."  He gives an oily smile.  "Although I must say, I much preferred your company – much easier on the eye-"

"Dung, I'm warning-"

"Ah, ah, Miss Evans will surely agree with me that her chosen beau-" Mundungus grins as Potter scowls at his phrasing, "-is a sullen and standoffish young man.  If you had the pleasure of knowing him, you'd understand."  He turns back to Lily.  "My dear, you must know that our little enterprise was much more fruitful for all parties.  I urge you to think on it.  You know where to find me."  He lifts his hat, and strides away.

"What was that about?"

"Forget it, Potter."

Black eyes her curiously.  "What's Snape involved in?" 

"Nothing."

"Sounds it."

Lily takes a breath, composing herself, and then moves to push past the pair.  "I need to speak with Amelia."

"Going to set up a drug deal with her as well, are you?"

She immediately halts.  "Say that again, Black."

Black smirks.  "Certainly, I said-"

Potter – ever aware, and having spotted the others in the room becoming interested – grabs his arm.  "She heard you all right, mate.  We both did."

The two men stare at each other.  She wonders what they can see in each other's expression; if it's like when she looks at Severus, and his eyes glint, and his eyebrow raises, and it's almost as if she knows what he's saying without him forming the words, and when he gazes at her, he always seems to come away with the right conclusion.   _But that's communication between two lovers_ , she thinks, and as much as Black and Potter are close, she's fairly certain they're not sharing a bed.

"Right.  Walk her home, eh, James?" Black says.  "There's some right nasty pieces of work out there.  We wouldn't want her falling in with the wrong sort now, would we?"

* * *

Lucius doesn't invite him into the study, but takes him down to the billiard room on the far side of the Manor.  "Do you play?" he mildly enquires, and looks faintly surprised when Severus nods.

"Well, sort of," he concedes.  "Pool, not snooker."

Malfoy looks a little impressed.  "Good enough," and he points to a smaller table at the far side of the room.  "I didn't think you'd have enough space in that hovel your parents call home-"

"Played at the pub."

"Of course you did."  He's back to his patronising self, and when Severus takes the proffered pool cue, he looks down.  Severus knows that Malfoy will read this as due deference – but he gives a tight smile to himself, allowing a brief daydream about wrapping the cue around Malfoy's neck.  "You break," Lucius says, interrupting his thoughts.  "Chalk's on the side."

They play game after game, and as a couple of hours slide by, Severus finds himself relaxing – for all that Malfoy orders him about, when he wants to be jovial company, he's more than able.  They don't talk about anything serious – a bit of gossip from Bellatrix about the Lestrange brothers, and a story about Avery's mislaid wand in the Ministry – until Lucius calls the final frame.

"This may as well be the decider," he says.  "We're on eight apiece."

Severus nods, and places the cue ball in the D, and lines up his shot.  His break is smooth, and the balls clatter against the cushions, and two spots drop into the middle pocket.

Lucius bangs his cue enthusiastically on the ground.  "Shot, Sev, shot."

He gives a tight smile at the praise, and settles into potting the rest of the colours into the pockets.  After so many frames, his eye is good – and aside from the purple ball rattling in the jaws before dropping, he sinks the lot without missing a beat.

"Clear run," Lucius says, admiringly.  "You could make money at that."  There's an awkward pause, and then Lucius booms another laugh, pointing his cue accusingly at the younger man.  "You did."

"Once upon a time."  He places the cue on the table and shoves his hands in his pockets.

"Muggles," Lucius sniffs, beckoning Severus to follow him to the bar at the side of the room.  He pours them both a drop of firewhisky, and inhales deeply, basking in the aroma.  Then he looks at Severus, the glass twisting in his long fingers.  "I thought Jigger had spoken to you about your appalling timekeeping?"

"I-"

"You were late."

Severus looks at his own glass, not daring to speak.

"I don’t appreciate tardiness, Severus."  Lucius takes a sip of his drink.  "Especially without good reason."

"I forgot my cloak."

At this, Lucius raises his eyebrows.  "I can see as much."

"I mean," and Severus speaks quickly now, before he can change his mind, "I forgot my cloak, so I went back for it, and I overheard Jigger talking to old Sluggy."

Lucius' pale grey eyes flicker with sudden interest, and he indicates that Severus should sit with him.  He leans forward eagerly.  "And tell me, Severus, what did old Jigger have to say for himself?"

"Something about your father," he blurts out.  "But that's when they realised someone was there."

Lucius sits back, crossing his legs, his interest lost.  "That's it?   _Something_ about my father?  How long were you there before giving up?  Ten seconds?"

Severus flushes at the criticism.  "No," he says, defiantly.  "Ages, actually.  But all Jigger said was that your father owed him for something."

Lucius frowns.  "Interesting.  Nothing else?"

"No, nothing you'd want to hear."  He screws his face up awkwardly.  "They were mostly talking about me."

"You?"  Lucius smiles.  "And why wouldn't I be interested?  I'm very invested in you, Severus." 

"Yeah well, it was just about what happened with Borage, really.  They talked a bit about my background, and my mother, and my friendship with you-"

At this, Lucius suddenly looks wary.  " _Our_ friendship?"

Severus nods.  "Sluggy was warning Jigger that I had friends in high places.  Jigger seems to think he can control me."  He looks distressed.  "Talked about being able to keep me quiet."

"Did he really?"  Lucius sips his whisky, taking the opportunity to pause for a moment, clearly thinking, and then he leans forward once again.  "Anything else?"

"A bunch of stuff I couldn't really hear," Severus says, "but there was something about Sluggy paying Jigger for me."  He frowns, and looks at Lucius earnestly.  "Does that make any sense to you?"

Lucius sips again.  "Perfect sense." 

"Oh?"

"Following your little incident with Borage," he says, disapprovingly, "Slughorn stepped in to grease the wheels."  He looks sternly at Severus.  "After the investigation-"

Severus' face flickers with fury, "I've told you, I didn't know!  I didn't know!"

Lucius holds up a hand, trying not to roll his eyes.  "Severus, Severus, Severus, I have heard this a million times before.  I am _aware_."  He sniffs.  "But the facts as they were…" Severus looks petulant, muttering under his breath, but Lucius continues as if he hasn't spoken, "…meant that no other Potions Master was willing to consider you."  He shrugs.  "Slughorn didn't just put in a quiet word, you understand."

"No, he bribed Jigger.  I heard!"

"Well," Lucius says, slickly, "bribe is an uncouth word.  And, of course, Severus, don't go running away with the idea that Slughorn is your saviour."

"No?  It sounds like it to m-"

"Sluggy?  Really?" Lucius laughs. "Oh, no no no, my little friend.  Not at all."

"Then..."

"Who else, Severus?"  His crocodile smile returns once more.  " _I_ pay Sluggy.  Sluggy pays Jigger.  And Jigger?  He tolerates you."  And then Lucius knocks back the remains of his firewhisky.  "Now, open that satchel.  I wish to inspect the merchandise."


	17. Genie out of the bottle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably point out that the age of consent in the UK in the Muggle world for heterosexual couples was (and still is) 16.
> 
> Not that we see anything graphic from the teenagers, but I think it's still worth mentioning for any readers from countries where the current AOC is higher. The teenagers being 16 is a depiction of them being "responsible", and isn't meant to be controversial.
> 
> I dithered a lot over formatting, but decided that the sheer number of flashbacks in italics would get old fast - so the change in tense depicts a historical scene versus a current scene. Hopefully it's easy to follow.

They stalk out of the meeting, and although she's glad of his presence as a means to sidestep Amelia, once they're outside, she refuses his offer of Apparation. 

"I'm not leaving you to walk home alone," he says.  He has a loping stride, but even he's moving quickly, such is her speed.  "Or run home, as it seems to be."  

She doesn't dignify any of this with a response, and he indulges her silence for several streets, perhaps expecting that she'll burn off some of her anger.  

"We could make this journey a little more pleasant if we spoke?" he ventures as they round yet another corner.

She pulls up short, her finger pointed at his chest.  "I'm not searching for pleasant.   _You_ don't have to be here," she suddenly snarls.  "I am simply walking home."

"Yeah, and I am walking you home."

"Because Black told you to."

Potter looks flustered.  "Because I _want_ to," he corrects.  She huffs, and turns, and he grabs her elbow.  "Because it's the right thing to do."  

Her eyes narrow, but she doesn't pull out of his grip.  

"Sirius is right – anyone could be out here."  His eyes roam over hers, debating whether to say it or not – whether it will convince her.  In the end, because he's desperate for her not to run off alone, he says it, "And because Snape would want me to."

She doesn't smile.  Instead, she laughs – actually laughs – sounding worryingly like the dark Slytherin boy Potter once knew.  "Don't be ridiculous!"  With two steps, she pushes past him, resuming her breakneck speed down the road. 

"Evans."  Potter sighs helplessly, and trots after her.  "Evans, wait.  Wait!"  

They're at the end of the street before he catches up with her, and they're both out of breath.  He grips the side of his waist, irritated at the thought that walking – _walking!_ – might have been enough to induce a stitch.  "You're a right one, y'know."

"I'm a right one?  If I were you, I wouldn't have the audacity to pretend that you're doing _anything_ for Severus' benefit."  She glares fiercely at him.  "You know who I am talking about, right?" 

Potter looks confused.  "Yes."

"I was checking, because I used his real name, and you spent seven years acting like you didn't know what it was."

"Evans, look," Potter groans.  "I was a stupid kid back then.  And Sirius.  And Remus and Peter, and well, we all were."  

She doesn’t look impressed at his confession, and starts to walk again, albeit slower this time.  

He wonders if she has a stitch too.  "If it – if _we_ – hurt his feelings, then I'm sorry."  

She still doesn't acknowledge him.  

"I'll tell him."

This makes her stop.  "What?"

"I'll tell him.  I'll apologise.  Me and Sirius.  I'll even get Remus and Peter too if that's what Severus wants," and he waves his hands a little, "although it wasn't really them to start with.  I mean, sure, they carried it on, but only because me and Sirius thought it was funny."

"And was it?"

"Hmm?"

"Was it funny?  Calling him Snivellus for _years_?  Hexing him between classes?  Ruining his schoolwork, and crashing his broom during Quidditch?  Cornering him in the castle, four wands against one?"

He looks a little awkward, but there's a hint of a wobble to his lips, as if he's trying not to laugh.  "Well, look, I'm not proud of it, but… What do you want me to say?  Yeah.  Yeah!  At times, it was kind of funny."  

She really doesn't look impressed, and he runs his hands through his hair.  

"Would you rather I lied?  Would you rather I said that I hated every minute of it, and I had no idea why we gave him grief?"

Her tone is begrudging.  "I suppose not."

"Exactly!  So what?  He was some weird greasy kid with a smart mouth," and he holds up his finger to stop her from interrupting, "and it would've been something and nothing if he hadn't set himself up with those Slytherins.  You know fully well that after that first term Lucius Malfoy had it in for me.  I couldn't walk down a corridor without getting a detention-"

"-because you were hexing anyone and everyone who walked past you-"

"-it was a laugh!"

"No, Potter!"  She shakes her head.  "It wasn't a laugh.  To you, maybe.  And to Sirius.  And to those other idiots who followed you around, applauding your humour and inflating your head.  But not to Severus.  And not to me.  And not to anyone else who had the misfortune of meeting you."

"I've said I'm sorry." 

He does look mildly embarrassed now, she notes.   _Good_ , she thinks.  "Yes, well.  One apology can't erase seven years."

"It's a start though."  Potter looks resolute.  "If he's willing to listen, I'm willing to say it.  I think that's pretty fair."  He holds his arm out again.  "Now, for the love of Merlin, will you Apparate us – or are we going to sprint the whole six miles back to your flat?" 

* * *

She watches him through the window as he prepares to Disapparate.  It's funny, really, talking to him after all of these years – there's a maturity to him that he didn't possess at school, but his confidence and his intensity makes her a little uneasy, and she already feels guilty at having invited him in to the home she shares with Severus.  She absently begins to tidy the sofa, sweeping away their biscuit crumbs and plumping the cushions one by one.  She stands back for a moment, appraising the room, and after neatening the recently used coasters on the table, she's content that it looks normal - as if she hadn't invited an Order member - _that_ Order member - into their flat.  She starts dusting the shelves, throwing herself into her cleaning – anything to distract the chattering voice in her head.

It wasn't just Potter.  Everyone thought it was odd that she was with Severus.   _Everyone_.  Half the time, she gets the impression that Severus himself thinks it's odd that she is with him; she catches him sometimes, when he thinks she's reading and not looking, and he stares at her with the sort of expression that you'd normally find on someone viewing an exotic animal in the zoo – a recognition that the poor thing is out of its natural habitat, and somehow simultaneously appreciative that they're able to bask in it being so close to them, but also terrified that a sudden movement will scare it off.

She sorts through his washing basket – robes, more robes, a pair of jeans, a couple of t-shirts, those awful shorts, a handful of boxers, and so many pairs of socks, it was as if he'd turned into a centipede when she wasn't looking.  As she loads the washer, her mind tips back to Potter – Potter, of course, was the sort of boy that her parents were expecting that she'd bring home.  They'd always been unfailingly polite to Severus, of course – but they rather assumed that he'd be a short-lived thing.  As a kid, she had always had a bit of a soft spot for an underdog – so they welcomed him, and fed him, and let him sit next to her whilst they all watched tv.  And Lily knew now that her parents had been patiently waiting for puberty to kick in, with the expectation that Severus would become a footnote in history, whilst she attached herself to someone with a chiselled jaw and perfect teeth. 

But Severus, the dirty, scrawny boy from across the river just didn't go away.  Petunia was horribly jealous.  Not of Severus, per se – she wouldn't have wanted a _Severus_ \- but she coveted the closeness of their friendship.  She desired that sort of partnership - of how they would laugh at unsaid jokes, and finish each other's sentences, and how they never seemed to run out of things to say.  It was easy, with Severus, and she knew he felt the same. 

Once, when they were about ten – and she had teased him about it terribly ever since – she caught him pinching himself:

"Sev, what are you doing?" she had asked, watching in horror as his dirty fingers gripped the skin of his forearm over and over, leaving tiny little crescent blemishes in their wake.

"Me da says if yer havin' a nightmare," he answered, looking bashful, "yer can wake yersel' up if yer pinch yersel'."

"A nightmare!  But we've been having a lovely day," she said, her eyes filling a little.  "We went to the park, and then into town, and I bought us some sweets from Woolies, and you managed to sneak us in to the back of that film when the usher wasn't looking."  She huffed.  "I thought you were happy being my friend, Severus!"  

And then she saw his regretful expression.  

"…you weren't trying to wake yourself up from a bad dream!  You thought this couldn't be real."

"I ain't never had a day like this," he whispered, and his lip wobbled just a fraction.  "Not ever."

She instantly threw her small arms around his skinny frame.  "Well!  We can do it again tomorrow, if you like?"

Once they got older, there were a million rules they had to remember – no hugging was the toughest of all; she'd been forever throwing her arms around him when they were small, and he always looked so pleased when she did – but her mum said it was no longer appropriate, not now they were teenagers.  Her parents still let Severus go up to her room to talk in private, but all of the doors – bedroom _and_ landing had to remain open, and that meant that they couldn't put their music up very loud, else they'd disturb Petunia, or interrupt her dad watching Z Cars.

Not that they misbehaved in any way, despite her parents' fears.  

Lily succumbed to puberty first, as seemed inevitable – but to her parents' confusion, no other boys appeared on the horizon.  Instead, every morning of the summer holidays, with the August sun beating down on his reddened neck – _"Honestly," her mother used to huff, "has his family never heard of sun tan lotion?"_ – he'd be the one – the _only_ one – to rap on the kitchen window.  Her parents watched anxiously as puberty caught up with him, and he grew from a tiny, gaunt child who looked as if he'd never make it to five foot, into a lean and lanky teenager who could finally look David Evans squarely in the eye, his voice oscillating wildly between high and low pitches, and his cheeks reddening furiously each time it happened.

Eventually, to Lily's surprise, her parents softened their stance.  For all of their early fears about Severus taking advantage – inadvertently or not – by the time fourth year rolled around, they'd relaxed.  Petunia was always out of the house with some boy or another, so the doors started to be closed – landing first, then bedroom later – and by Christmas, they even let Lily head over to Spinner's End.  Over the river had always been out of bounds, but her parents reasoned that they'd never misbehaved under their roof, so why would they start now?  There clearly wasn't anything more to it – they simply were just friends who happened to be of the opposite sex. 

Lily reaches into the kitchen cupboard and pulls out his diminished bottle of firewhisky, and pours herself a measure.  Even thinking about that night makes her heart race, and seeing Potter now – so reasonable, and so welcoming – and she can't help but wonder that if she hadn't visited Severus that evening, if their lives would've been very different after all. 

* * *

He was hanging out of his bedroom window, a cigarette between fore and middle finger, and a plume of smoke spiralling from his lips. 

"I've caught you," she laughed as she ran across the cobbles, almost tripping in her haste.  "Thought your dad told you off for doing that?"

He grinned.  "I'm already grounded," he called.  "What else is he going to do?"

She knew it was bravado.  She knew how his dad could turn funny.  She remembered only too well her first meeting with Tobias Snape - back when they were first friends, and they'd both lost track of time down by the river.  His dad had marched across the park – and he was a big brute of a man, with thick arms, and thick fingers, and a furious scowl – ranting and yelling about Severus being late, and her new friend had looked at her like he was going to be sick.  He'd leapt up, brushing the twigs and grass from his clothes, and his dad had near pulled his arm out of his socket as he dragged him back down the road, berating him all the way. 

When she next saw Severus, he'd been odd – not wanting to sit and talk about magic, or lie and look at the river.  She'd soon tired of wandering aimlessly around, especially with him being in such a strange mood, and she had eventually taken him back to her house to watch Doctor Who.  Instead of being excited, he'd stood awkwardly in the corner, eventually conceding to lean his elbows against the back of her dad's chair and peer over the top.  

Petunia had thought he was scared of the Tardis, or the Daleks, but Lily heard her parents whispering in anxious tones in the kitchen – and anyway, she knew Severus wasn't scared of the television – and then her dad called Severus in to talk to them, and the door had shut behind them, leaving her sat with Petunia.

He looked like he'd been crying when he came back in, and he'd got crumbs on his shirt.  Petunia had peered at him curiously – they were never allowed biscuits after meals – and then when he'd left a short while later, her mum had stopped him by the back door and hugged him tightly, and made him promise to come back the next day.  She'd never done that before.  Once he'd gone, the kitchen door had shut again, and there was more anxious whispering, before her parents came into the living room, both clutching cups of tea and looking pensive.

It hadn't made a lot of sense at the time, but similar incidents happened several more times, and Lily was somewhat innocent – not stupid – so she'd eventually worked it out.  Last Christmas, sick of her begging, he'd pulled the bottom of his shirt up, and slid an inch or so of his trousers down, and shown her the edge of the fresh marks from where his dad had beaten him with his belt.  Severus had turned fifteen a couple of weeks later, and even though she knew it must hurt – because he wouldn't sit on any walls with her for days, and would wince if he accidentally brushed his backside against anything solid – he was tougher than he'd been at nine.  She couldn't really think about those sorts of marks being on him the day her parents had given him the biscuits.

So Lily didn't really like his dad – and she knew for certain he could do a lot worse than keeping Severus locked in his room if they were caught – but she missed her best friend, so the reckless side of her won out.  She put her hand on the drainpipe and started to shin up it, just as he'd taught her to do.

"You're a real Gryffindor," he said admiringly, leaning his hand out of the window to help hoist her in to his bedroom.

"Brave?"

"Stupid," he laughed, and leant back out of the window.  He stubbed the cigarette out on the wall outside, and carefully aimed before flicking the filter into the grid in the yard below.  He pulled the window to, and then pointed at his bed.  "It's the only place to sit," he said, sounding apologetic.  "I'll take the floor."

"You don't have to."

"It's only chivalrous," he grinned.  "That's what your lot are into, aren't they?"

* * *

She visited him every night for a fortnight, helping him to count down the days until he could step out into the fresh air again.  On the fifth night, she took him a new pack of cigarettes that she'd convinced Petunia to buy for her – only by lending her the new Abba record that she hadn't had chance to play herself yet – and he'd looked at her with such gratitude, it had been a deal worth making.  She didn't tell him that his funny lopsided smile made her heart skip a little faster in her chest, and she didn't think she could get through the next week without seeing it.

Being there night after night, she soon noticed that there was a different sort of noise down at Spinner's End.  On her side of Cokeworth, there were cars and garage doors, turntables and lawnmowers – and in her house at least, there was Petunia, who could make enough noise to drive anyone to distraction.  But at Spinner's End, there weren't any cars so there was no need for garages, and there weren't any lawns, so no need for lawnmowers.  Severus had a turntable, but his dad had snapped the needle as part of his latest punishment.  

Sat in Severus' room, she could hear the faint hum of the radio from downstairs, and some stray cats fighting in the street, and the odd bark of a dog – but mostly, it was the odd sounds of living; the kettle whistling, mugs clanking, and spoons rattling, doors opening and shutting, and with alarming regularity, the screams and shouts of Tobias and Eileen.

"Here we go," he'd said on the first night, putting another cigarette between his lips and lighting it with his wand, and then pushing the window back open.  "Here y'are," and he'd held his hand out, "sit on the ledge, and stick your head out the window, and it doesn't sound quite so bad."

"What are they fighting about?"

He shrugged.  "Him.  Her.  Me.  Nothing.  Everything.  The world, the universe and anyone in it."

"Every night?"

He nodded.  "Pretty much."

She looked at him thoughtfully.  "When people aren't happy living together, they can get divorced."

He took a long draw on his cigarette, and she wrapped her arm around his neck as he blew the smoke out of the window in a steady stream.  Then he tilted his head, and he gazed at her with the oddest expression.  "Who says they aren't happy?"

* * *

She celebrated her sixteenth birthday at Hogwarts, and then again - several weeks later - in Cokeworth.  He hadn't celebrated his in either location, apart from receiving a parcel in the Great Hall that obviously came from Lucius, although he wouldn't tell her what was in it – but he did return to Cokeworth at Easter with her, when she'd planned for her 'home' birthday celebrations, both of them keen not to be parted from the other for any length of time.

A few days after the party, she'd gone over to his to revise for their OWLs.   _It's quieter_ , she'd told her father, _without Petunia_.  Her father had merely laughed – there wasn't a lot he could say in argument, so she'd packed up her bag of books, and headed across the river.  Neither Eileen nor Tobias were home when she'd arrived, and the two best friends had happily set themselves up to study in his bedroom, books strewn over the floor, and them each passionately discussing Charms theory.  She was right, of course, but he wasn't one to back down from an argument.

His parents came home a few hours later, but she was spared seeing them.  Severus had caught the apprehensive expression on her face when the front door had slammed loudly, as if she was fearing that an almighty row would break out, so he'd taken the initiative and ducked downstairs to grab some food from the fridge.  He'd garbled something to his parents about them both studying and needing some peace, and it seemed that neither Tobias nor Eileen particularly cared, as neither had ventured upstairs to monitor what the pair were up to.

Lily knew it was around half seven, because the melodious strains of Coronation Street's theme tune boomed up the stairs, when she shot him her most mischievous look and pulled out a full bottle of vodka from her bag. 

"Is that your dad's?" he gasped.

"Tuney gave it me," she said, with a small laugh, waving it from side to side.  "Birthday present!"

"Tuney?  Blimey, you want to test it's not poisoned," he said.  Lily giggled, but his expression showed that he wasn't joking.

"It's fine," she said, pointing at the seal.  "Unopened."  She sat back on her heels.  "Have you got any glasses?"

He raised a sardonic eyebrow.  "Yes, I have a full shelf just behind you – of course I don't, you daft sod!"   

She stands, suddenly filled with confidence.  "I'll get us two, shall I?  From downstairs?  ...your parents don't care I'm here, do they?"

And he swallowed hard, shrugging a little.  "No, they don't care.  And yeah, if you want.  Third cupboard on the left."

She crept down the stairs, not wanting to disturb their television watching – Petunia always screamed blue murder if someone trod too loudly on the stairs whilst she was watching something.  There was a new show last week, The Good Life, and she'd behaved as if their mother had set fire to the house the way she went on.  Privately, Lily felt that if Petunia had stopped moaning a little sooner, she'd have barely missed any of it – as it was, they'd all missed a good third, which was a shame – Jerry had been really bloody funny. 

She glanced into the living room, but although the television was playing, nobody was in there.  She braced herself, preparing for a stilted conversation in the kitchen with either Eileen, or Tobias, or perhaps both – and she was silently praying that it wouldn't be Tobias alone – when she heard the oddest sound.  She moved forwards a little more, and she could see the washing up bowl full of water, and the dishes on one side, and then she saw his parents – Tobias pressed against Eileen, her neck exposed, and his stubbled face moving down it.  Her eyes widened as she saw his hips moving back and forth.

"But Toby," Eileen protested, "I heard the stairs.  I think Sever-"

"-an' I've told yer, soft lad'll be upstairs rest of the night," Tobias grunted, "yer know what he's like with 'is books."

"But-"

"Shhhhhh," he hissed, a little more harshly.  "If yer don't shut yer mouth, he will come down, an' then he'll see me fuckin' yer-"

"Toby, don't!"

"What would you say to the little runt, eh?"  He speeds up a little, and Lily is memorised by the rapid thrusting of his hips.  "Would yer tell him that yer wanted this?  That yer like it like this, pressed up against the back door, or would yer pretend that I'm some ogre-"

"Toby!"

Lily can't pull her eyes away from the scene.  She's never seen two people having sex before, and it's nothing like what they tell you in school, or in church, or even what gets whispered in the common room.  It's meant to be in a bed, both people lying down with the covers pulled up high, with lots of declarations of love and… 

"Fuckin' dirty bitch-"

…not language like that. 

* * *

They passed the bottle of vodka between them, swigging from it, and his frown grew deeper.  When she wrote the same line on her parchment three times, he grabbed the quill off her and put it on the floor.  "Right.  What's up?"

"What do you mean, what's up?"

"What do yer mean, what do yer mean, what's up?"

She stared at him, and then snorted.  His accent gets so much stronger once he's back home, and it's worse now he's been drinking.  "Idiot."

"Could say the same to yer.  Yer've been weird all night.  Yer went down to get some glasses, and came back a completely different person."  He gave her a curious look.  "I wouldn't mind, but yer didn't even bring back any glasses.  …what was at the bottom of the stairs?" 

"Nothing."

"Yeah, feels like nothin'."  He opened his mouth again, ready to make a joke, but when he looked up, he saw her stricken expression.  "Hey!  Oh fuck," he said, and grabbed her hands.  "What the fuck was downstairs?  Did he say summat to you, coz I'll-"

"No, it was nothing."

"Yer sure?  Coz ever since yer've been acting like Mulciber did on those weird potions he got from Nott's sister."  He peered at the vodka bottle, and then sniffed it.  "Where did yer say Tuney got this from?  Are yer sure it's not contaminated?" 

"…can I trust you?"

"Course yer can trust me.  I'm yer best friend, aren't I?"

"Have you ever seen anyone having sex?"

"Fuckin' hell!"  The swig of vodka he'd just taken stuck in his throat, and he coughed wildly, banging his chest.  "Lily, fuckin' hell…" He looked at her with the most incredulous expression – a cross between shock and pleasure and astonishment and glee, and she blushed furiously.

"Sorry."

"No, no," he said, "it's okay.  Don't be sorry.  You can tell me anything."  He crossed his legs and he looked amused, and eager, and the most interested in a conversation that she's ever seen – and she's seen him after Potions, discussing his pet theories with Slughorn.  "Talk to me.  Like what?  Like real people doing it?"

"Yeah."

"I'm not a pervert," he said.  "Course I ain't.  …not _real_ people."

She gave him a twisted smile.  "Not _real_ people?  Like, who then?"

He looked a bit reticent, and then scratched his ear.  "Yer won't say nowt at school?"

"Of course not," she answered quickly, the alcohol making her bold, and desperately keen to hear what he has to say.

He leant behind him and lifted his mattress.  He pulled out a ratty magazine, and flipped the pages before handing it to her.  "It's magical, like," and he pointed at a couple, "so it's moving.  Not quite real, but not quite fake."

Her mouth fell open as she watched the two bodies entwine – and then she flipped the pages, humans of all shapes and sizes doing all sorts of things to each other, and she knew her eyes were widening.  She looked up, and he was difficult to read – he looked scared and excited all in one glance, as if he was expecting her to throw it at him, or shout at him, or disown him. 

"Well?" he said, cautiously.  "What d'yer think?"

"I think I want to have a go," she said.

He stared at her, utterly dumbstruck.  "What?  At that stuff?  …with me?"

"Of course with you.  I don't see anyone else here."  And when she looked at him, his eyes were the widest she'd ever seen – he looked like it was _his_ birthday celebration – not to mention Christmas, and New Year, and every family holiday that he's never ever had, all rolled into one glorious gift. 

He quickly grabbed the magazine.  "Yeah?  Which one do you think?"  He looked so excited, and nervous, and his hands were shaking as she sat next to him, both of them looking at people contorted into all sorts of positions.  He laughed nervously as he saw her checking the sudden bulge in his shorts.  "You do know that I've not done this before, yeah?"

"Nor me," she said quickly.

"Right.  No," he said.  "Course not."  And then he flipped the pages again.  "Lil, I don't know what the fuck I'm doing, but I _definitely_ want to do it.  With you, I mean."

And she put her hand on his chest, and his heart was thundering, and then – for the very first time – she pressed her lips against his.

* * *

Her mum had sat her down one night, a good eighteen months or so earlier – obviously fearful of her teenage daughter being at a school full of hormonal teenagers, and her making the wrong choice. 

"The difficulty, Lily," she'd said, "is that once you've let the genie out of the bottle, you can't put it back in."  She'd passed the box of Christmas chocolates over to her, and let her take another one.  "Once you take that step with a boy, he isn't going to want to go back to holding hands."

"I know," she'd said, flushing.  But she hadn't quite understood.  If she took that step in the first place, why would she want to go back to holding hands?

* * *

She turns the empty glass over and over.  Potter had always liked her, she knew that, but she hadn't liked him very much – not back then.  The problem, now that Lily thought about it, was that by sleeping with her best friend, she'd shut all of the other doors.  She couldn't take a step back from Severus without breaking his heart, and she knew he wouldn't – couldn't, even – have stayed friends with her whilst she dated someone else, and there was no way she was prepared to lose him. 

She stands, and pours another measure – his expensive firewhisky now almost gone.   _Good riddance_ , she thinks, remembering all of the times she's found him of late, shaking and sweating and on the cusp of throwing up.  It reminds her too much of Tobias – of angry, shouting, violent Tobias.  Severus looks mostly like his mother, nose aside, but sometimes – especially now he's older, and his chest is starting to broaden a little more – if the light catches him, and his expression hardens, she can see his father.  And it gives her the weirdest tremor. 

She doesn't like Tobias in the slightest – doesn't like how he treats Eileen, doesn't like how he treats Severus, doesn't like his football or his drinking or his gambling – but there was _something_ in the way he'd behaved that night.  Something possessive, or demanding, and it made her feel odd inside.  She's found herself looking at Severus, wondering if the same attitude was dormant in him – but he's always been the same old Severus; kind, and thoughtful, and well, grateful.  Until this little stint with the aurors, and then there'd been a flash of it – not of anger, or control, but a possessiveness which was at complete odds with the situation they were in.  

 _Maybe that was it_ , she thought.   _He acted possessively because he was having to share me with the aurors listening in_.  Or maybe he just didn't know any other way to be vocal, and he had to give the aurors something to listen to.  Whatever it was, whether a secret desire in him, or just him acting, he's reverted back to type now – his usual considerate self.

She sips at the firewhisky over and over, but now the ugly thought has crept into her head, she can't stop thinking about it – if his father hadn't been fucking his mother in the kitchen, would she have gone back upstairs and propositioned Severus?  If she'd not gone over to his house that night – if he'd gone away to Lucius' instead of heading back to Cokeworth with her, or if she'd stayed at home and ignored Petunia and chosen to watch tv with her father, or if they'd both stayed at Hogwarts in single sex dormitories at opposite ends of the castle – would they even be together now?  Would they be in this desperate situation together, or would she have been worn down by Potter and his constant proposals?  Would Severus have had a better shot at a career if she'd let him go off with his pureblood friends instead of staying loyal to her?

And then she can't take the questions swirling in her head any longer, or the associated guilt, and she pours the remains of the bottle into her glass and downs the lot before banishing both glass and bottle to the sink.  She winces as the sudden scorch of the alcohol burns the back of her throat, and the door bangs, and he's stood there, with that silly lopsided grin that she always loved so much.

"All right, love?" he says, taking a step towards her and kissing her lips chastely.  "Mmm, you taste good," he murmurs, wrapping his arms around her, and deepening the kiss. 

"And you taste of firewhisky," she says, trying not to sound accusatory – but she's irritated all the same.  He'd promised after his last bender that he was going to cut down, and he clearly hasn't abstained.

"Yeah, well, so do you," he quickly shoots back, and he moves his hands up to tangle in her hair, and then frames her face with them, kissing her more passionately. 

After a moment, he pulls back slightly, and she gasps.  "Severus, you're absolutely freezing!  Your hands!"

"Better take me to bed and warm me up then," he chuckles, and holds her against him.  "Up for the job, love?"

And she stares into his dark eyes, and she can see his adoration and his vulnerability in equal measure.  Cold or not – and his fingers are practically blue – she can't reject him.  "Yes," she says, and he beams, and takes her hand, and leads her through to the bedroom.  

He lays her down carefully, and starts to remove her clothing, but she's completely numb to his considerate actions and his thoughtful movements.  All she can think about, as his hands gently roam her body, is that by spending the evening thinking about their past and his father and Potter and what could've been, she's somehow betrayed him, and that he deserves better than that – better than her.


	18. I can do better

He tries – oh, _how_ he tries.  When her body doesn't react in the way that he's come to expect, he doesn't give up.  Instead, he doubles his efforts – he's attentive, doting, assiduous, and she can almost hear his brain whirring, desperately scouring his memory for what else might work when everything he's tried so far has failed.  At one point, he lifts his lips from her skin, and longingly peruses her body – and the heat in his gaze and the sheer concentration on his face almost takes her breath away.

She expects him to capitulate – to be angry, to roll over and wrap the sheets around him, cocooning himself against her lack of reaction and presumed rejection – but he doesn't.  He just seems more and more puzzled. It's as if he's a small child playing with his favourite hi-tech toy, but finds that it just won't respond, even when he's following all of the instructions and pressing every button in the correct sequence.

 _If I was a toy_ , she thinks, _he'd_ _find my_ _failure to respond_ _easier to solve._ He could tip her upside down and shake her, or slide open the power compartment and change the dead and corroded batteries which are hidden deep inside for new.  Or maybe he could throw her in the back of the cupboard, forget about her, and ask for a replacement – the new and latest model – for Christmas.  But she's not, so he can't, and it's such a silly thought, because he doesn't seem angry or frustrated when his efforts are for naught, nor ready to cast her away and seek a new and shiny replacement.

Instead, when he's finally forced to admit defeat, he simply looks completely baffled.  He props himself up on his elbow and gazes intently at her, and after a long moment, he moves his hand gently towards her head.  His fingertips trace along her cheek, and he carefully slides a few stray strands of her hair behind her ear.  Now, so long after he arrived home, his fingers are warm to the touch.

"What's wrong, hey?"

She doesn’t answer – can't answer, but he doesn't look away.  He nestles her soft cheek in his palm, his touch incredibly gentle.

"Am I…?  Is it…?"  He looks so unsure of himself as he speaks.  "…do you need me to do something different?  Something new?"

She doesn't blame him for being distressed.  Ever since their first night with that smutty magazine guiding their way and feeding their fantasies, they'd always been compatible.  In the privacy of their bedroom and with a rapt audience of one, he was so beautifully expressive, so easy for her to read, and oh so willing to demonstrate exactly how she could please him.  In return, he'd been a diligent study of her pleasure, and found no gasped request too arduous - least, if he did, he never let on.  He seemed to relish every moment with her, his dark eyes watching keenly at how she reacted to his experimental touch, and whenever she moaned, his face would fill with joy, as if he was the one being caressed – not her.  She wonders if that's what's bothering him now – that if he doesn't keep her content, she'll look elsewhere and find someone new, someone more capable, someone with more skill.

"Whatever it is, tell me," he begs.  "I promise I can do better."

She doesn't answer, but turns her head until the tip of her nose rubs against his warm palm, and then she kisses his hand softly.

"I won’t judge.  Whatever you need, I can do it."  His face is full of longing.  "Please tell me."

He's not like this normally.  This is the alcohol coursing through his veins, revealing the overly eager little kid that still lives inside him.  It makes her smile to think that he's still that same boy that she so fell in love with.  He's a little more restrained now that he's reached adulthood, more guarded with his emotions - far colder, more distant - but he's always been the same where she's concerned; kind, thoughtful, and – the thought makes her wince a little – so incredibly grateful, as if he can't believe his luck that she chose him.  But there's something else in his expression tonight – something a little harder in his eyes, just that hint of an edge.  It's then that she realises.   _He's scared_.

Suddenly, she's scared too.  Scared that if she doesn't speak, if she doesn't respond to his overtures, if she doesn't reach out to him and make amends, she'll wake to find that he's back to digging crescent shapes into his forearm.

"It's probably just hormones," she says, eventually.

"Oh!"  He seems surprised, and moves higher up on the mattress.  He presses his lips against hers in an unspoken apology, and then settles his head on the pillow next to her.  His relief at her explanation seems to pour from him.  "Are you hurting?"

She shakes her head, unable to further the lie, but accepts his warm hand when he holds it out for her to hold.  She swallows hard as he squeezes her fingers and then tangles his long digits with her own in the way that they both find so comforting.

He stares at the ceiling instead of her when he speaks again.  "I'm sorry.  I just didn't think.  I didn't realise…I mean, you weren't," and he's stumbling over his tongue now, a hint of a flush on his cheeks, "you're not…down there, you've not…"

She slips her small hand beneath his chin and turns his head, her lips seeking his out once more.  She does this partly to put him out of his misery, and partly to shut him up - and although her actions start chastely, within minutes she’s coaxing his lips to part, and he gives a muffled groan.  

He twists his hands in her hair and pulls her closer, her body pressing against his - but a minute later, just as a tingle of pleasure thrums through her, he stops his ministrations and shifts awkwardly, creating a small - but significant - distance between them.  Surprised by his action, she shuffles herself back up against him, hip against waist, her legs twining with his.  She slides even closer, clumsily brushing her thigh against his groin, and she suddenly realises why he pulled away so dramatically.

"It's okay," he says, quickly.  "I don’t need…I mean, I don't expect...if you're not feeling…"

"I don't mind.  I could-"

"No."  He closes his eyes.  "It'll go away.  If I think about something incredibly tedious, such as listing the nineteen primary methods for chopping basic potions ingredients, or thinking about emptying the fridge item by item and cleaning it, or-"

"-sweeping the floors and dusting the bookcases?"

He gives a soft chuckle.  "You're not helping."

"You get turned on by dusting?"  She can hear her own amusement in her voice.  "I didn't realise.  I'll let you clean the flat more often if you enjoy it so much."

"No, dusting most certainly does not do it for me," he says, opening his eyes again, and giving her a weary glance.  "But I'm trying to pretend that I'm being shouted at by crusty old Jigger instead of lying next to the most beautiful woman on earth.  If she will insist on chattering away to me, it rather breaks the illusion."

"Oh.  Right.  Sorry."

He closes his eyes once more.  His face is calm – serene, in fact – and she wonders what he's really thinking about.   _Was Jigger such a tyrant that a memory of the old man yelling would do the trick?  Or was he thinking about Jigger making him do something boring, like cleaning spilled potions off benches?  Or slicing up beetle eyes?  Or stirring a cauldron one hundred and sixty three times anti-clockwise, with just one clockwise turn at rotation seventy four?  She's never been in Jigger's laboratory, so she can't even imagine what Severus is picturing – whether the lab is dark or light, or warm or cold.  If there's a window for a day and an oil lamp for night, or if it's all magical – a clever line of Lumos charms, perhaps?  That's if he's picturing Jigger's rooms at all.  Maybe his imagination wasn't strong enough to dampen his arousal, and he was still lying next to her whilst thinking about the most beautiful woman on earth?_

She knows he fancies her, desires her, wants her – but he's not usually one to express his feelings so bluntly.  He's the epitome of show not tell – of touch and taste and action.  Over the years, she's learnt that he's not one to shout his most closely guarded emotions, so hearing him say how he sees her has made her heart race, and now she can't help but slide her hand across his smooth skin.  

He tenses, his stomach rippling as her fingers follow the thickening line of hair down from his stomach to his pelvis, and it's at that moment that his eyes jolt open dramatically.  He quickly regains his composure, and snakes his hand out, gripping her wrist and halting her in her tracks.  "I'm afraid that fondling me falls into the same category as chattering," he drawls.

"Oh dear.  I'd better find another solution for your problem then."

"I'll warn you, Lil, if you get up now and grab a duster, I am not going to be responsible for my reaction."

"If you can’t be responsible," she says, "then I’d best take control."  She almost giggles with delight when his Adam’s apple bobs wildly at her unexpected threat.  He eyes her warily, and his shoulders tense, and his expression seems to be fuelled by lust and fear in equal measure.

"Lil..."

"I'll stop if you make a noise," she warns, her voice a lilting sing-song.  "Put your hands behind your head," she orders, and his compliance is so swift, she has to bite back a laugh.  She lifts herself over him, straddling his thighs and running her fingernails down his chest.  He breathes in loudly, as if he's being pushed to his limit, and a moment later she encircles him with her hands, and it clearly takes all of his strength to suppress a loud groan.  She watches him carefully, gratified when he screws his eyes tightly shut – because this time it's not in frustration, but from complete and utter pleasure.

* * *

She's wrestling in a swirl of bedding, her hands clawing at the duvet, and her dreams filled with ever-growing heat - a stroll down Diagon Alley in the sunshine, cooking in their tiny kitchen on a hot day, a beach holiday overseas when she was small, watching over a boiling potion in Sluggy's NEWT class, and bizarrely, standing on the edge of an erupting volcano and on the cusp of diving in - and that's when she suddenly opens her eyes.

 _There is something hot._ She reaches down under the covers, and pulls out a charmed hot water bottle - it's boiling to the touch - and she puts it to one side.   _It isn't cold outside_ , she thinks.   _I can't remember making that last night_.  And when she turns to take a much-needed gulp of water from her glass on her bedside table and she sees his note.

 _Lil,  
_ _The bottle is for the pain, if you wake up with any.  
_ _The bar is for your happiness.  It always lifts my mood when I need it.  
_ _See you later.  
_ _S_

And then she sees what the note was resting on - a thick slab of Honeyduke's most expensive chocolate.

* * *

Not having friends doesn't seem to bother him.   _I've got you_ , he says, when she asks.  She hadn't thought anything of it when they were at school - what were his choices?  Reggie Black?  Avery?  She gives a shudder.  Mulciber?  In a childish way, she'd always thought it was better for him to do without entirely, if he had to pick from that list.

He wasn't completely alone, though.  He had that weird almost brotherly relationship with Malfoy, and he spent a couple of years hanging around with Malfoy's group of Slytherins - and more than a couple of years mooning about over the beauty of Narcissa Black - but she couldn't really remember much about how those friendships all started.  She couldn't remember why Malfoy took a shine to Severus, or why Malfoy let him hang about with his friends, or why Severus wasn't closer to his housemates of his own age.

It wasn't that they'd lost touch, but those early days at Hogwarts had been full of new people and places, and her days were taken up with exciting new experiences.  She always took the time to meet with Severus, but they had both been a little wary of the reactions of their respective housemates, preferring to keep their interactions out of sight of everyone else.  Consequently, that meant she hadn't spent her first weeks hand-in-hand with her best friend, as she'd expected she would when they'd lazed by the river and dreamt of their days at Hogwarts.  Instead, she was quickly drawn into the whirl of life in Gryffindor - midnight feasts, learning the rules of wizarding games, daring each other to run down the corridors after dark, and the ever present quest for the house cup.

The only time she'd really had opportunity to spend time with Severus within lessons was in Potions.  It was one of the only subjects where Gryffindor and Slytherin had their classes together, and their desks were arranged like a parted sea: red and gold on one side, green and silver on the other.  She knew he was looking at her as longingly as she was him, but they contained their interactions to simply exchanging knowing glances across the room when other students answered questions incorrectly.  She'd always privately applaud in her head when Slughorn cited Severus' work as an example, and she was certain he did the same for her.

That arrangement continued until third year, when Slughorn swept in and announced that he was going to assign seating places.  He'd blustered about developing inter-house cooperation, which was met with a not insignificant amount of grumbling, but he stressed to them that it was his job to encourage all of his students to work to the best of their ability.  It was at this point that most of the kids in the classroom had stopped listening to their professor.

Whilst others in the classroom were mourning the end of their working friendship with the person next to them, she had been focused on what was coming next.  She glanced around the classroom, surveying her likely options, wondering if she'd be sat next to a boy or a girl, a Gryffindor or a Slytherin, even whether they'd be bright - and Slughorn's plan was for them to bounce intelligent ideas off each other - or if they'd be as dense as the trunk of the Whomping Willow, and she'd be expected to foster a love of the subject into a disinterested student.  

She was so lost in her ruminations, it took a moment for her to spot that Severus was trying to catch her attention - and when he did, he winked.   _Surely they wouldn't be that lucky?_ She sat in silent anticipation until Slughorn called her name and, to her utter joy, pointed at the desk where Severus sat.

"I don't think so," came a disdainful voice.  "I'm not having a Mudblood sat next to me."

There was a momentary hush, and she paused mid-step, and the whole class waited for Slughorn’s reaction.  Mulciber was grinning at Severus, the smug boy entirely relaxed in his casual bigotry, uncaring at the reaction it caused - whilst Severus' face was impassive; not laughing at or agreeing with Mulciber's comment, but not challenging the statement either.

"The good news, Mr Mulciber," Slughorn said, loudly, "is that you're sitting up here in the front row, as close to me as possible.  I suspect you will find the blood status at this part of the room to your liking."

Mulciber's amusement quickly switched to sullenness.  "A professor and a blood traitor."

"I don't want to be sat next to a purist," shouted Black, leaning back on his chair.  "It goes against my-"

" _You_ go against-"

"Enough!" roared Slughorn.  "You, Black, sit properly.  You, Mulciber, take the seat next to him.  And you," and then his voice softened, a friendly smile back on his face, "Lily, do take a seat next to Snape here."  He paused. "You have no such objections do you, Snape?"

"It's your classroom, sir," Severus said, carefully.  "If this is how you want us to sit…"

"Yeah, well, if you end up sharing your equipment, make sure you wash your hands before you come back to the dorms," Mulciber hissed as he collected his bag and stood.  "I'll know if you haven't."

"Now, Mulciber," barked Slughorn.

Mulciber glared at Lily as he passed her, watching her as she took his old seat.  "Dirty blood."

"Hi Sev-"

"Shh," Severus hissed, staring at his desk.  "Mulc's watching me. Don't be too friendly just yet."

"Oh."

"Only for a bit," he muttered, still not looking up.  "Good though, eh?  I asked Sluggy if he could arrange for us to sit together."

She glanced around the room, watching all of the students bickering and groaning as they switched places.  "He did all this for you?"

"And you," Severus whispered.  "He likes you even more than me.  I told him you were the best in this class, and we could learn a lot from each other."  He shot her a quick sideways smile.  "And you know Slughorn - I think he's got his eye on that Potions Apprenticeship fund."

She looked stunned.  "He thinks one of us…"

"Probably you," Severus said, pushing his quill awkwardly around the desk.  "But yeah.  One of us."

And it's only now, all these years on, now that she's trapped in their flat - unable to work, unable to brew, unable to shop, and seeing almost nobody other than Severus that she's really stopped to wonder about what he was up to during those times they were apart.  And she realises that she has absolutely no idea.

* * *

She doesn't mean for it to become a regular thing with Potter, but they fall into a routine which makes no sense to break.  She tried, at first, telling him she'd got places to go - but he'd never let her leave a meeting without accompaniment.  Her heart caught in her chest thinking about Severus finding out about her growing friendship with Potter, and it made more sense to invite him in for a cup of tea whilst Severus was working at the Broomsticks than to roam around Hogsmeade where any witch or wizard might spot them together.

"Thanks," Potter says, as she puts a mug of tea for each of them on the table and takes a seat next to him.  "What did you think?"

"I think the Prewett boys are taking unnecessary risks."

He cocks an eyebrow.  "I think they're daring."

"You would," she huffs.  "They need to use a little more brainpower."

"And a little less brawn?  Ah, the Gryffindor affliction."  Potter smiles.  "You sound like him, you know."

She doesn't dignify his comment with a response.  He doesn't quite dig at Severus; even Potter must be aware that she wouldn't stand for such disloyalty whilst he's drinking from Severus' mugs and sitting in Severus' seat - but he doesn't let their relationship lie for too long.  He always worries at it, picking and poking and prodding, in subtle and inventive ways.

"And?"

"I didn't say it was a bad thing," Potter says.  "I was simply making an observation."

They sit in silence, sipping at their hot drinks, until Potter glances over once more.

"What?"

"This thing with Madam Bones-"

"-she's just trying to arrange a sponsorship for me," Lily says, quickly.  

Potter's eyes narrow - her response was too quick, it seems.  "A sponsorship?"

"So I can work."

"I know what one is," Potter looks puzzled.  "But why hasn't Snape signed your exemption?"

Her blood runs a little cold.  "Severus? He's a Half."

"He's got Pure lineage."

"It doesn't work like tha-"

"It does."  Potter sits forward, and grabs a quill from the table.  He scribbles a family tree on a scrap of parchment.  "Him, Muggle dad, you said?  And his mother - Pure."

"Surely that's still Half?"

"But it goes by grandparents," Potter says, sketching up higher.  "Now yes, his dad is Muggle through and through."   _Muggle, Muggle_ , he writes.  "But for her to be Pure..." and then his quill scribbles: _Pure, Pure_.

"Three of each.  Still half."

Potter looks at her as if she's vaguely simple.  "That's true, if parentage is mixed - if his mother was Half, and there were other Halves in the bloodline.  But Severus' magical heritage is _Pure_ , Lily.  They add a weighting to Purebloods."

"So instead of three-three," she says, astonished, "it's more like six-three?"

"Well," Potter concedes.  "Not quite six-three, as that would bend the rules a little too far, but four and a half is probably reasonable."  

"So he could exempt me?"  

"If he wanted."  He sits back with a flourish.  "You should probably be asking yourself why he hasn't bothered."

She's breathing harder now, and excuses herself to the bathroom.  It takes a good three minutes to stop crying, and another five before she's washed her face and added a little make-up to cover her now-blotchy complexion.  

"You okay?" he asks, and he's shifted on the sofa, his long arm stretched out along the back.  He fills the space differently to Severus, who is all long limbs and sharp-cornered bones; Potter is muscle and meat - not fat, but brawny.  Severus' legs are slim, but Potter's thighs are thick - _too many hours clenching a broomstick_ , she thinks.  He's not exactly handsome; he's no Sirius Black - but he's attractive in his own way.  He's tidy and neat and clean, with his pressed robes and his expensive glasses, although just like their school days, his hair is still untamed.  Despite this, it's as if he's grown into himself, in exactly the way that Severus hasn't - Potter is full of confidence, whilst Severus is still flailing around in his body like a newborn fawn.

"I'm fine."

"Good," he says, and finishes his tea.  "Then, can you answer my question honestly?  What does Madam Bones want from you?"

She wouldn't have told him.  Not until his revelation about the sponsorship.  It was her task, and her task alone - but now that she knows that Severus could've made her life easier, she can't stop that little rush of anger from raging in her chest.   _Does he want to keep me in here?  Locked away from society, so only he can have me?  A jealous, selfish boy who wants to keep me for himself?_

"She wants me to find out who Severus is working for."

Potter's face fills with greedy excitement.  "And I am guessing that the answer she is looking for is neither Jigger or Borage?"

She nods.

"That Sirius' accusation of dealing potions is correct?"  Potter is eager, but this time, she doesn't nod - she can't quite bring herself to betray Severus in such bold terms.  Potter waits, but when no answer comes, he tries a different angle.  "And do you know?  Who he's working for?"

"Not yet.  Not for sure."  And she tilts her chin.  "But I shall find out."


	19. This will do nicely

He's monitoring the flame beneath the cauldron.  It takes precision, this step – too cold, and the dragon's eye won't split open and spill its precious contents into the liquid, but too hot, and the eye will burst under pressure, and the ensuing explosion will erupt messily out of the cauldron.  The mixture has to be on the edge of a rolling boil, and then as the eye bobs up and down in the liquid, right at the moment that the old blood vessels darken and the iris blooms, that's when the heat has to dramatically drop.  As Jigger has explained several times, this is when the eyeball is on the cusp of explosion, and pulling it from the heat leaves it without propellant - and that's why a correctly prepared eyeball will ooze into a potion, whilst a silly mistake will ruin half a day's work.

Severus knows this.  He understands the theory, despite Jigger's assertions to the contrary.  It's not a difficult concept to grasp, and he's not some thick-skulled dunderhead, but performing it flawlessly is another matter entirely.  After reaching this stage repeatedly, he's utterly sick of the early steps of the potion, which are tedious and routine; he could brew the first few hours in his sleep - and he's tired of Jigger treating him with utter disdain.   _It is tricky_ , he thinks to himself.   _There's nothing wrong with making a mistake on your first few tries_.  He's certain that the miserable old man struggled with it himself as an apprentice, even if he's now pretending that he's brewed it successfully since birth.  

Severus takes the cauldron off the heat, and practises his spell.  He twists his wand in the air, watching as the flame rises and falls at his command.   _Inardesco_.   _Defervesco.  Inardesco.  Defervesco.  Inardesco_.   _Defervesco._ He breathes deeply and composes himself - _you can do this, Severus_ \- and then replaces the cauldron, and repeats the spell.  He watches gratifyingly as the mixture simmers and boils and cools, and he knows that this time, albeit for the fifth time of trying – _"How many dragons must be blinded for you to master a simple method?"_ – he's going to succeed.  Least, he is until the door bangs open, just as the dragon's eye is cast into the potion and he raises the heat. 

"Inardesco!"

"Snape!"

And he looks up, and his concentration is broken.  Too late, he points his wand back at the burner, the spell forming on his lips, but the temperature is already far too high and the eyeball explodes across the room.

" _Cool_ ," nods Avery, approvingly.  He slides his hand out of his robe, and reaches to touch a slither of eye slime that's slipping down the wall.

"Merlin's sake," Severus shouts, rushing over to him and pulling him away, "don't touch it."

"What is it?  A dragon's eye?  It looks _awesome_."

"It looks like I'm about to get yelled at.  Again."

Avery raises his eyebrows.  "He's a taskmaster then?  Didn't think old Jigger would have it in him."  He watches, not offering to assist, whilst Severus quickly washes down the surfaces, trying to eliminate evidence of his error.  "You should've stayed with Borage."

"Didn't have much of a choice."

"Oh yeah," Avery says.  "Mulc said that if you asked him, you were lucky not to get thrown in Azkaban."

"And if you ask me, Mulciber needs his head read."

Avery smirks.  "You can tell him yourself."

At this, Severus stops his cleaning, and throws the rag he's using at the sink.  "He's here as well, is he?"  He rubs his hands on his robes.  "And to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"He's not here, but he's there."

Severus' eyes nearly rolled in the back of his head at Avery's inanity.  "He's not here, but he's _there_.  Yes, indeed.  How wonderfully insightful you are."

Avery grins.  "Still a sanctimonious prick then, Snape?"

"I've worked hard at it all these years," Severus mutters, hefting the contents of the heavy cauldron down the sink and rinsing it under a fierce spray of hot water.  "Why give up now?"  They both fall silent, and he scrubs the cauldron and wipes it dry before putting it in the cupboard.  He cleans his knives, and chopping board, and mortar and pestle, and then he washes the cloths he'd used, pegging them up to dry on a line at the back of the room.  "Well?"

"Well what?"

"This is clearly not a social call, Ave," Severus says, his face screwed up as he inspects his fingers.  He frowns at one particularly deep laceration, and then pulls a leaf and a stem from a dittany plant on the windowsill.  "If you wanted me to head down Knockturn with you, you'd have been talking about randy witches by now.  If you wanted a bit of trouble, you'd be grumbling about Muggles, and suggesting that we Apparate to some union march or riot or some such, and start a few fights."  He cuts the plant with his wand, and rubs the sap from within across his hands, hissing slightly as the natural salve makes contact with the open wound.  "And if you wanted some advice about your career at the Ministry, then you wouldn't have come to me in the first place."

"Touché."

"So?  What can I do for you?"

"Nothing for me."

"Ave, I am losing what little patience I had at the beginning of this visit," Severus warns, his jaw tensing.  " _Why_ are you here?"

"Malfoy wants you."

"Malfoy normally sends an owl."

"Yeah, well, this time he sent an Avery."

Severus barely holds back a grin; Avery's attempt at humour is relatively decent - and entirely uncharacteristic.   _Someone else must've said it to him first_ , he thinks.  "Give me some credit.  You can do better than that.  What do you really want?  Hallucinogens?  Sleeping aids?  Something to impress your latest lady friend?"

"Ha, if only.  I'm serious.  Malfoy wants to see you.  Now."

It's at this moment that Jigger appears, his bulky frame casting a shadow from the doorway.  "Unfortunately for you, and unfortunately for young Mr Malfoy," Jigger says, "the boy is on my time, and he isn't going anywhere."

"He's finished here," Avery argues.

Jigger glances at the pristine laboratory, desperate to pick fault.  "All clean, boy?"

"Sir."

"Sterilised the knives?  Washed the cauldron?"  He casts his eyes to the line of rags at the back of the room.  "I see you've finally remembered to disinfect the cloths after tidying."

"Sir."

"Perhaps my instructions do not all go straight into one ear and out through the other as I so feared," Jigger says, with a dangerous smile.  "Well then, if all is as seems, leave the potion on my desk, and you may go."

Severus tries not to sigh.  He knows that Jigger knows that he's failed.  Jigger _knows_ there's no potion.  Jigger _knows_ there's nothing for him to inspect.  Jigger _knows_ that for the fifth time, Severus Snape is a disappointment, and a disgrace to the profession.  Only this time, it wasn't strictly Severus' fault.  It was Avery's.  Severus composes himself – _What does Lily say?  Count to ten?_ – least, he tries, but he's only reached four when Jigger coughs impatiently.

"Sorry, sir," he says.  "I greeted Avery and took my eye off the flame, and the potion overheated."

Jigger leans in close to him.  "Then the lesson is not to let your friends into your laboratory when you're brewing, isn't it?"

"Sir."

"This is an apprenticeship, boy, not a youth club."

"Sir."

Jigger steps back, seemingly aware that Avery is watching the scene unfold with a look of wonderment.  "Yes, well.  At least you tidied up after yourself.  I trust you found all of the excretions?"

"Yes, sir.  I think so, sir."

"There is no 'think so', boy.  There is, 'Yes, I have, sir', or 'No, I have not, sir'."

"Sorry, sir.  Yes, I have, sir."

"Think carefully, boy, because if I find any trace of dragon's eye around this lab-"

"You won't, sir."

"-then I can promise you that you will be _very_ miserable for the next few weeks."  He pauses, and Avery is watching with his mouth slightly gaped as Jigger stands over Severus, somehow managing to loom over him, despite Severus' recent growth spurt.  "Well?  Still sure, boy?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then you may go."  Jigger waves his hand.  "But from now on, I will be deducting the cost of the ingredients for this potion from your wages."

Severus' heart sinks.  Dragon eyeballs are rare – and expensive.   _Bloody Avery_.  "But sir," he starts, desperate for his Master to reconsider, "I didn't-"

"And you can cease your continual interruptions of me, boy.  When I am talking, you are not.  Understand me?"

"Sir."  

"Your continued failure at this potion suggests you are lacking in either talent or temperament.  Given the general standard of your brewing, I suspect the latter is the cause.  Perhaps being financially responsible for your silly mistakes will ensure that you concentrate properly on the matter at hand, and will help you to develop your focus."  He drew himself up to his full height.  "Now get out of my sight."

"Sir," he says, pulling on his cloak and then indicating to Avery that they should leave.  

"Bloody hell, what a git."  Avery looks at Severus admiringly, as the two stalk from Jigger's and down the road.  "How do you put up with that?"

"With great difficulty," Severus spits.  "I'm telling you, Ave, whatever Malf wants, this had better be good.  Do you know how much dragon's eyes cost?"

"I dunno what he wants," Avery says, shrugging.  "You know what Malfoy's like.  Could be anything."  He appraises Severus.  "But I reckon it might something big.  After all, he didn't send a letter, did he?  Or a house elf."

"Yes, he sent you," Severus muses, softly – almost to himself.  Then they round the corner and before Severus can pull out his wand, Avery grips his arm and the twist of Apparation spirals them both through the ether.

"Ugh," grunts Avery as his feet hit the ground.

"Fuck's sake!" Severus yells, as he stumbles forward on landing, grabbing at Avery's arm.  "What did you do that for?  I can Apparate, you bloody idiot."

"Not to here, you can't," Mulciber says, stepping forward.  "Good job, Ave."

Severus looks at Mulciber in alarm, and then back to Avery.   _He's not here, but there_ , he thinks, and a cool shudder runs down his spine.  "I thought Malf wanted me?"

"He does."

"...so why am I here?"

"We are going together."

Severus throws his hands up, his irritation getting the better of him.  "Look, Mulc.  Ave.  It's great to see you both, but I've had a hard day, right?  I just want to-"

Mulciber draws his dark cloak around him, lifting the hood, and taking a mask from his pocket.  "As I was saying, we are all going to see Malfoy.  This is, shall we say, a precaution."

"A precaution?"  Severus looks alarmed, especially when he sees Avery also pulling a mask from his pocket.  "A precaution for what?"

Avery slides his mask in place, and if Severus didn't know for certain that the two young men before him were his old roommates, he'd have been terrified; the masks and cloaks reveal none of the person beneath - there's no indication as to whether the figures are friends or foes, or how well equipped they are for a fight.   _It's only Mulc and Ave_ , he thinks, trying to calm his rising blood pressure.  He slides his wand into his hand, ready to brandish it if required, and then Mulciber throws a cloak towards him, and he catches it with his non-preferred hand.

"Put it on," Mulciber orders.

Severus scrabbles with the material, dragging it over him and lifting the hood over his hair.  He fumbles in the pockets.  "Is there a mask as well?"

"Eager?" asks Avery, barely keeping the joy out of his voice.  "Told you, Mul-"

"Not yet," Mulciber says, although it's not clear which man he's speaking to.  Mulciber grabs Severus roughly by the arm.  "Ready?"

"Wait, no.  No!  Not at all.  You haven't said where we're going-" Severus protests.

"We both have," Mulciber says, sternly.  "Ave told you that he'd come to get you to see Malfoy.  And I've told you that we're all going to see Malfoy."  His head moves slightly, but with the mask covering his features, Severus can't ascertain his reaction.  "Have those potions fumes addled your brains?  You need to be sharper than this, Snape.  Trust me."

 _Trust him?_ Severus has never trusted anyone less.  And then, for the second time in minutes, he's dragged through the swirl of another's Apparation - and when his stomach drops, Severus can't tell if the cause is Mulciber's rough magic, or the fear that's been steadily building in his chest.  

When they land, it's in a dark room - if he didn't know better, he'd have said it was the ballroom of the Manor, but despite Mulciber and Avery insisting that they were on their way to see Lucius, Severus didn't believe a word of it.  It's far too cold to be Malfoy Manor - too sparse, too grey, and as he picks himself up off the floor, he notes that the mosaic tiling is too plain to be commissioned by any of the Malfoys.

As he stands and brushes grit from his palms, and sweeps dust from his newly acquired robe, he quickly takes the opportunity to survey the room - there's a tall figure sat on a large chair at the top of the room, flanked either side by two rather more deferential figures.  He glances over his shoulder and there's a throng of people, all wearing the same robes and masks - and this shared uniform strips them all of all other characteristics.  If it wasn't so terrifying, he'd have laughed - he could've been stood in a room with all of his old classmates, or the aurors from the Ministry, or the faculty of Hogwarts, or even random Muggles plucked from the street.  It was impossible to tell if these were men, or women, or old, or young, or-

A loud crack of Apparation tugs him out of his thoughts, and he glances to his left as a body hits the ground heavily.  Mirroring Severus' actions from a moment earlier, the person shakily dusts themselves off, and stands, and Severus catches a gleam of white blond hair peeking from beneath the hood of the cloak.   _Please be Malf_ , he thinks.   _Please be Malf_.  

And then the figure turns to glance at him, and Severus' knees almost give way - for it is Lucius Malfoy - but his lip has been split, and there's a thin line of blood trailing from his eyebrow and down the side of his face.

Severus can't help the gasp that he makes.  "Malf-"

"Silence!" roars one of the masked people standing to the side of the seated figure.

Lucius shoots him a look that Severus can't quite read, but it's enough to quell him.

"Stay there, Lucius," comes the command from the seated figure.  "You," he says, pointing his wand towards Severus, "come closer."  

Severus starts to obey, and then the pull of magic surrounds him, and he's dragged several yards across the floor until he's sprawled on the ground before the seated figure.  He starts to pick himself up, but glancing at the figures before him, he's not quite sure what's expected of him, and stalls his movement, leaving him on his knees.

"This one knows his place," the seated figure laughs, and as if on command, the rest of the figures laugh along too, their mirth echoing around the cavernous room.  "I like you already."  Then his wand flashes, and both Severus and the seated figure are standing, staring one another in the eye.  The mask is removed from the commanding man with a lazy flick of his wand.  The revealed face is extremely handsome, and looks very pleased, whilst Severus is still fighting the rising bile in his throat at being moved forcibly and unexpectedly once more.

 _Merlin's sake_ , he thinks, _don't throw up_.  

"No, don't do that."

And Severus freezes.   _Did he just read my fucking mind_?  He glances at the man, who has now turned to confer with the two masked figures to his side.   _He was probably just talking to them_ , he reasons, trying to compose himself.   _Get a grip, Sev,_ he thinks - and then one of them levitates a table towards him, whilst another carries a briefcase.  The table is set down just inches from where he's standing, and the case is laid on top - and the handsome wizard flicks his wand, opening the latch, and lifting the lid.

"You are an apprentice brewer, aren't you?"

Severus can't speak - the words are trapped in his throat - and it's all he can do to nod.

"Do forgive me for abducting you in such an uncouth manner," the man says, tapping his wand against each filled flask, and sounding anything but apologetic, "but I have a small problem, and I was hopeful that you might be able to assist."

Again, mutely, dumbly, Severus nods.

"For the benefit of all of those gathered," the man says, tapping his wand against each flask again, resulting in a sharp tinkle that echoes throughout the room, "could you take one of these potions from the case, and tell the room what it contains?"

Severus nods again, and his hand reaches for the nearest flask.  He unclips it from the case, and lifts it to the light and inspects it closely, before uncorking it.  He places it under his nose, and gently inhales - just as both Jigger and Borage taught him to do. " _There's no point taking great gulping breaths, boy!_ " Borage had berated him in his first few days as an apprentice, " _What if it was a poison?"_ But this isn't a poison, Severus is sure, and he inhales carefully again - although it isn't necessary, because he already recognises his own handiwork.

"Ready?"  The handsome man leans a little closer.  "Then speak loudly."

"It's Unicorn's Fright," Severus says, trying to keep the shiver from his voice.

"Unicorn's Fright," repeats the man.  "Unicorn's _Fright_.  How _interesting_."  He stands straighter, his arms outstretched, addressing the room.  "Have any of my friends here heard of Unicorn's Fright?  Had any use for such a potion?"  There's a mumbling of dissent, and Severus can feel his heart thundering in his ears.  The man leans back in.  "Is it a common potion?"

Severus shakes his head.  "The more," and he stumbles over his words, "the more common potion is Unicorn's Delight.  You use it to entice a Unicorn, and-"

"I _know_ what Unicorn's Delight does!" screams the wizard, all composure lost - and then, as quickly as his anger came, it disappears.  "Tell me, how do the two potions differ?"  As Severus open his mouth to answer, the man loudly continues, "and I do not mean how the creature reacts, as that is evident from the name alone.  As you are an apprentice potioneer, I wish for you to tell me the difference in how they're brewed."

"...porcupine quills," Severus says, eventually, his voice desperately shaking now.  "At the end of the brew, you add porcupine quills and stir rapidly.  That's how you make Unicorn's Delight.  And if you don't, you make-"

" _This_ ," says the man, waving his hand over the briefcase full of potions.  

Severus nods, still not daring to speak directly to the man unless bidden.

"Is it a common request?  Unicorn's Fright?"

Severus shakes his head.

And then the wizard leans in to him more closely, his wand twirling dangerously between his fingers.  "And do you recall Lucius here requesting that you make Unicorn's Fright?"  There's an almighty pause, and then the man smiles.  "Or were you supposed to brew Unicorn's Delight?"

Then the man's wand is in the air, and there's a spell, and then there's an intruder deep in his head.  Severus falls to his knees and screams loudly as the man rips through his memories.  It feels as if his brain is being pushed through a sieve, and desperate for it to cease, desperate to keep this terrifying wizard from discovering any trace of what's truly important to him - his girlfriend, his family, his embryonic business - Severus guesses what the man is searching for, and deliberately brings the brewing session to the forefront of his mind.  He thinks over and over about all of the precise steps he'd followed, and Jigger and Slughorn interrupting him at the end, him decanting the potion, and then he starts it over again - it's then that the man finally latches on to the vision, and the evening's brewing feels as if it's being ripped from his hands, and examined against his will.  After several minutes, the man withdraws, and Severus slumps onto the floor, panting heavily.

"It was perhaps unfortunate that you were interrupted at the stage you were," the wizard says, generously.  

Severus nods, his face flushing.  As soon as he identified the potion in the case, his heart had sunk into his feet, knowing exactly what the problem was.  

"However, unfortunate circumstances do not restore the inconvenience that I have suffered," he continues.  "I would anticipate that a brewer of skill would remain aware of their surrounds, and would not make such errors."  

 _It's like listening to Jigger_ , he thinks.

"And cannot go unpunished."

 _Still like listening to Jigger_.

"The question is, do I punish you - the idiot brewer - or the man who dared to deliver such goods?"  And now the wizard is staring at Lucius.  "The man who trusted what he was given.  The man who chose his brewer poorly.  The man who should know better."  There is a long silence, until eventually, the man turns to Severus once more.  "You feel my power?"

"Yes, sir."

The wizard makes an irritated noise.  "My Lord," he corrects.  "Sir is for your Master, or perhaps even Lucius here."  There's a ripple of laughter around the room, and then the man's deep in his memories again, pulling out scraps of brief interactions of the pair at Malfoy Manor.  "Or not."  He looks surprised, and a little interested as he looks at Lucius.  " _Malf_.  How _familiar_ you permit the boy to be, Lucius."

There's another ripple of laughter from the assembled crowd, and Severus can see Lucius staring impassively ahead, as if nothing has been said, but the wizard's attention is back upon him, already bored of Lucius.

"And are you familiar with the Cruciatus?"  

Severus swallows hard.   _Familiar with the Cruciatus?  Who can consider themselves familiar with such a curse?_ He remembers it from school - the lesson on the three Unforgivables, and the warnings of the horrific pain that one could be subjected to if it was wielded by a wizard with skill, and Severus is in no doubt that this is a wizard with skill.  "I am aware of the curse, my Lord."

"Tell me," he says, almost amicably.  "Tell me who I should punish.  The man who brokered this deal?  The man who knew who he was purchasing for?  The man who should know better?  Or you?  The boy who made an innocent mistake?"  

They stand in silence for long minutes, and Severus is dumbstruck, with no idea what to say.  

The wizard then gives an almost imperceptible shrug, and again, it's as if he's read his mind.  "There are no wrong answers.  It is of no consequence to me."

Severus doesn't dare glance at Lucius.   _This lunatic is going to Crucio one of us_.   _For making a simple mistake_.  And then the guilt settles in his stomach - Malf, who had always stood by him, would be Crucio'd for trusting him.  And it _was_ his own mistake - wasn't Jigger always screaming at him that his work was sloppy, that he didn't take enough care?  Wasn't this whole scenario illustrative of that very complaint?   _Thank Merlin Jigger just wants to garnish my wages and doesn't think to curse me with Unforgivables for making errors._

"Me, my Lord," he says, his voice quaking, "it was my mistake, not Lucius'.  I have never made a mistake for him before whilst brewing," and his breath catches in his chest when he says it - for all of his rushed work, it was always his apprenticeship that suffered; he always took extra care when it came to brewing his illicit potions, "so I understand why he trusted me, and I do not wish for that trust to be broken.  I am the one who deserves your ire, my Lord."

He can almost sense Lucius sagging with relief, and the wizard looks momentarily impressed.  "Very well," he says.  "The rest of you may go."  

Severus hears the crowd behind him departing, footsteps heavy on the ground, and voices grumbling about missing out on some much desired entertainment.  

"Not you, _Malf_ ," the wizard says, with a dark chuckle, and beckoning him back.  "I think that you should stay.  When I have finished, your boy might need some assistance."

And now, Severus really does think he might throw up.  He glances at Lucius, who looks equally terrified, and then back at the floor.  Severus can hear the handsome man seating himself, and when all others have departed and the room is silent, Severus finally peers up from under his hood.  The man nods, as if he was waiting for such a movement, and beckons both youngsters towards him.  As they step closer to him, the powerful wizard holds his hand in the air, and there's an almighty pressure on his shoulders, forcing him to kneel.  A quick glance to his left shows that Lucius is submitting in the same manner.  

"But I am nothing if not benevolent," the man says, his wand twirling between his fingers once more.  "Your lesson in this, Lucius, shall be that I reward bravery.  And I think we can both agree that your ever so loyal little pet here has been brave."

"Yes, my Lord."

And then his attention is back on Severus.  "So, if you please me, young man, I will refrain from using the Cruciatus upon you."

He isn't sure whether to weep with relief, or to shake with fear - because this man, this terrifyingly powerful wizard, wants something from him; wants Severus to _please_ him.

He follows Lucius' lead.  "Yes, my Lord."

"Very good.  Now, I wish for you to select your own punishment."

Severus doesn't dare breathe.   _I don't understand_ , he thinks.  

And now the handsome man is smiling - no, not smiling, _leering_.  "During your life," he elaborates, "you have been punished for misbehaviour, have you not?"

He's fairly sure this wizard saw _something_ when he was peeling through his memories, although he can't quite be sure what as it all happened so fast - perhaps the time his mam backhanded him for drinking the last of the milk, leaving his da without any for his tea at breakfast, or maybe the time the teacher at his Muggle school sharply rapped his left hand four times with the cane, and he'd gone back to his desk with his palms pressed firmly between his thighs, blood starting to ooze onto his thin shorts.  

Or maybe he didn't see anything.  One or two students at Hogwarts had heard whisper of Severus' miserable Muggle background, and he had no idea who was stood in the room watching tonight - or even Lucius himself might've let something slip.  Lucius did like to deride Severus' parents' marriage as being a waste of a decent witch, Severus' own failings blamed on his father's useless blood tainting him.   _Unfortunate_.  That was the word he heard the most to describe the Snape family.  His father was unfortunate.  His mother's choices were unfortunate.  Severus' faults were unfortunate.

The wizard snaps him out of his thoughts.  "If you understand my power," he intones, "and you understand your _costly_ mistake, then I wish for you to choose - to show me one of your previous punishments, and that is what you shall receive tonight in lieu of the Cruciatus."  He pauses.  "But be warned, if I find your choice insufficient, _I_ will search your memories until I find a punishment which is appropriate for the infraction, and you will submit to that instead."

Severus knows that this wizard would delight in exploring his head, examining his hopes and fears and dreams and memories, and he wants nothing more than to keep this creature out of his brain.  So, his heart heavy, he drags his most hated memory to the front of his mind, and nods, indicating that the wizard should commence.  The wizard raises his wand, and casts, and as the awful images flicker across Severus' brain, the wizard seemingly delights in what he's witnessing.  He watches the scene repeatedly, forcing Severus to relive every shout and scream, and every howl and whimper, as if this moment itself is a warm up to the main event.

Eventually, the wizard stops and leans back, his wand dangling from his fingers.  "Oh my," he says, and he seems utterly gleeful.  "Yes, this will do nicely."


	20. Pandora's box

It doesn't matter how cold it gets, he always sleeps in his underwear; pants only, no vest.  She comes from a family where flannel button down pyjamas are de rigueur in the winter, replaced by lightweight cotton in the warmer months - so although she didn't expect him to look as if he'd stepped out of page 472 of the Littlewoods catalogue, she also hadn't anticipated that he'd slide into bed wearing the same y-fronts that he'd worn all day.

"What?"

"They're not exactly sexy, are they?"

"And striped brushed flannel is sexy, is it?"  He gives her an incredulous look.  "I bet Dursley wears striped brushed flannel to bed."

"You're freezing.  I bet Vernon isn't."

He gives her that smug raised eyebrow that he only seemed to acquire after they became a couple.  "Why would I need brushed flannel when I've got you?"

* * *

_"Get the fuck up!"_

* * *

She doesn't press it as an issue; it's not that big a deal - although she does eventually convince him to take a shower and switch into clean underwear before heading to bed.  It's a compromise, she reasons, although when he curls up against her, his torso freezing, she wishes he'd reconsider.  Even a t-shirt would help.  She doesn't complain too strongly, though - after all, curling up next to her loving boyfriend in their own private flat is much more agreeable than staying in Cokeworth with her parents and sleeping in her childhood bed.  Still, it would be nice on cold nights to be embraced by someone who wasn't impersonating an icicle.

* * *

_"Now!  Yer little fuckin' shit!"_

_His large fist grips the material of his son's shirt, scrunching and clenching the fabric until the tightened neck is choking the flailing teen.  The teenager's arms are windmilling as he's hoisted from his slumber, but his father's hold is firm._

_"Wha-"_

_"Don't fuckin' what me, you little fuckin' psycho!"_

_And then he's thrown against the bedroom wall.  He quickly swipes at his eyes, trying to remove the sleep from them before he's hit again._

_"Go on, get on wi' yer!"_

_There's a hefty kick to his side, thudding into his waist and just glancing the bottom of his ribcage.  He gasps, and he's roughly grabbed by the scruff of his neck, and shoved unceremoniously through the doorway._

* * *

Finding somewhere to live had been arduous, despite both of them being in full-time employment; apprentice wages were far lower than an ordinary wage, and she refused to look at anywhere outside of Hogsmeade.  She would've admitted that it was an odd request, until he refused to consider anywhere with stairs.

"You are joking, right?"

"Who needs stairs?"

"...people who want more than a flat.  A house, for instance."

"Why do we need two floors?  There's only us.  We just need somewhere to eat, somewhere to wash, and somewhere to sleep.  What's that?"  He ticks his points off on his fingers as he counts the rooms.  "Kitchen, bathroom, bedroom?"

"Severus..."

"Let's be honest, just a bedroom would do us."

"Severus!"

* * *

_He grasps for the woodwork, desperately trying to hold onto something - anything: doorframe, bannister, even the skirting board - but the boy's weak grip is nothing compared to his father's fury._

_"Don't fuckin' mess me about!  Get down them stairs!"_

_He's shoved in the back, and he stumbles down the stairs, slapping his hands on the paintwork to steady himself and barely keeping himself upright, the heavy footsteps of his father pounding down the steps behind him._

* * *

In the end, they'd found a flat which had stairs on the outside, and after testing the lock on the front door, rattling the handle and banging his hip hard against the wood, he'd reluctantly agreed it was suitable.

"The rest of it's fine," she says to the estate agent, "but it's a shame it doesn't have a garden."

Severus looks at her like she's grown another head.  "What do you want a garden for?"

"So you can grow your potions ingredients."

"I can get discounted ingredients through Master Borage.  Why would I want to grow them?"

"I thought you liked Herbology?  You were always in those greenhouses at school.  Sprout recko-"

"Because I couldn't afford top quality, that's all.  I had to grow my own.  I hated it."

"But, Sev-"

"I just said, didn't I?  I hate Herbology, and I don't want a garden.  Or a yard.  Or anything outdoors."

* * *

_"Gerroff," he yells, as he's thrown out into the frigid yard.  There's the bitter tang of blood in his mouth - although he's unsure whether he's bitten his cheek in the tussle, or if his lip was forced around his teeth when his head was thumped against the pointed edge of the oven.  "Get the fuck off me!"_

* * *

"Don't even think about it, Lil."

"But why?  They're so cute with their tiny paws, and when their tails-"

"No."

"Sev, please - just come with me and look?  I'll walk it-"

"I said no."

"But if just held one, you'd fall in love-"

"I'm serious.  Bring one of those into my home, and it's the last you'll ever see of me."

* * *

_"I always knew yer'd do summat like this!"_

_"Like what?" he screams.  "Like fucking what?"_

_"Yer a fuckin' freak, an' yer gonna break yer mam's heart carryin' on like y'are!"_

_Severus looks helplessly towards the house, willing his mother to step out of the shadows and intervene, but Tobias' large hand grips Severus' chin firmly, his fingers digging painfully into his sunken cheeks._

_"No point lookin' through kitchen window, yer little fuckin' monster, she ain't gonna fuckin' help yer this time."_

_"I wasn-"_

_"She wants to know why," he spits, and pushes his son's head back against the wall of the house, Severus' skull meeting brick with a sickening crack.  "But I don't fuckin' care why.  Yer can explain yersel' to her tomorrow.  If yer got the bollocks-"_

_"I ain't a fucking coward!"_

* * *

"I bet your mum was pleased."

"Mmm."

"With your mid term report."

"Mmm."

"Professor McGonagall wrote ever such nice things about me, but Mummy and Daddy don't really understand what Transfiguration is, or Arithmancy, and I nearly died when Petunia asked if Astronomy meant I could read her star sign!"

"Mmm."

"I tried to show them what Transfiguration was last summer, do you remember?"

"Mmm."

"And I got a letter from the Ministry.  The Ministry!  I guess your dad is the same as mine, but at least with your mum, she's been to Hogwarts, so she understands what it all means."

"Mmm."

"Is that all you have to say, Sev?   _Mmm?_ Are you even listening to me?"

"Yeah."

"So?"

"So..?"

"Oh honestly, Sev!  What did your mum say about your report?"

"Oh.  Nowt."

"Didn't Sluggy write anything nice?"

"Yeah."

"Didn't she read it?"

"Yeah."

* * *

_Tobias shoves him against the wall again, and then grabs at his worn t-shirt, his thick fingers tearing the thin cotton as he shakes him.  "Why d'yer do it?  That's what them fuckin' psychopaths do, them what yer see on telly and read int paper.  What were yer thinkin'?  Leavin' fuckin' bloody clothes all round our house, and yer din't even bury the poor fucker properly!  Six inches of dirt ain't gonna do it, yer lazy little fuck - if yer gonna bury summat, yer gotta go deep."  Tobias shakes his head in disgust.  "I ain't like yer mam.  I never thought yer'd come good.  I knew yer was a little weirdo - yer always were, but she thought with yer goin' that school and hangin' around wi' that posh girl, yer would get on straight and narrow.  An' just fuckin' look at yer."_

_"I ain't done nowt!"_

_"That's why yer fancy headmaster writ to yer mam, is it?  Coz yer ain't done nowt there either?  Yer lyin' little shite!  Yer a disgrace at school-"_

_"I'm not!"_

_"-an' I ain't fuckin' surprised.  No wonder they don't want yer back."_

_Severus recoils like he's been slapped, but Tobias carries on, as if the boy hasn't reacted._

_"An' I don't wan' yer back 'ere 'an all, behavin' like this.  Bringin' shame on this fuckin' family.  How'm I gonna walk in the pub again, eh?  How'm I gonna look John Davies in the eye, eh?  Aye, all right Johnny lad - how's yer missus?  And yer kids?  I'm sorry to hear about yer dog-"_

_"Da-"_

_"-sorry my boy came home fer the weekend an' fuckin' murdered it!"_

_"But-"_

_"No hard feelins' eh?  Yeah, that's gonna go down real well, son.  Real fuckin' well." Tobias jabs his finger towards Severus.  "Whatever is goin' on in yer head, I'm tellin' yer, yer not bringin' this shit to my door."_

* * *

She taps his open book, interrupting his reading.  "Sev!  Slughorn's absolutely furious you missed Potions.  Have you been here all afternoon?  Did you lose track of time or-"

"Just didn't fancy it."

She gives him a funny look.  "Yeah, right.  Severus Snape didn't fancy Potions class, and next week, pigs are going to fly from the Astronomy Tower."

"Knock it off, Lil."

She drops her bag next to him, and sits herself on the grass.  "I just can't imagine you deliberately skipping Potions, that's all."  

"I didn't get much sleep," he shrugs.  "You've got to be careful when you brew.  I'd only end up burning my eyebrows off or something."

"There's loads of people like that at the moment."

"What, with no eyebrows?"  

"No, idiot," she laughs.  "People who can't sleep.  I wondered if it was the owls or ghosts or something-"  He gives a derisive sniff, and she punches his arm.  "All right, no need for the sarcasm - it was just a theory."

"Ghosts don't keep me awake, Lil.  Upcoming OWL exams are what's keeping people awake."

This time, it's Lily who scoffs.  "Sev, they're months off yet.  Nobody - apart from you - has even thought about them."

"No?  I reckon you should."

"Yeah, well, Lupin looked shattered today, and I know he's not been studying."  

Severus falls silent, but Lily's fiddling with her shoelace, and misses his wary look.  

"But it's definitely not ghosts with him either," she adds.  She drops her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.  "Slughorn sent him up to Pomfrey, and then that third year Hufflepuff - you know, the one with the freckles-"

"Wallace."

"Yeah, Wallace.  Pomfrey sent him down with a message, and it turns out that Lupin's mum's sick."

"Oh."

"Yeah.  They're sending him home for a few weeks."

"Right."

"It must've been bad, because Sluggy even excused Potter to go and see Lupin before he left.  I've never seen Potions so empty."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Lupin, Potter, you-" 

He scoffs derisively.  "It's not as if anyone would miss me."

"Slughorn did."

"Professors don't count."

"I missed you," she says, and jabs him in the ribs when he rolls his eyes, "and don't say that I don't count!"

"You're my lab partner, of course you missed me.  But-"

"Anyway, it wasn't just me.  ...Black was very interested in where you were."  She looks slightly confused.  "In fact, it was after Slughorn was asking where you were that Lupin felt sick-"

"-right, I'd best go and see Slughorn," he interrupts loudly, suddenly standing and looking over his shoulder in each direction.  "Better explain myself to him."

"I'll come wi-"

"I can fight my own battles, Lil.  I'll catch you later, all right?"

* * *

_"Yer mam says beatin' it out of yer ain't gonna work," Tobias muses, fumbling with his belt, "but I ain't got any other answers."_

_"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!  Da, I'm sorry, I-"_

_"Yeah, yer sorry yer got fuckin' caught.  That's what yer sorry about.  What's next, lad?  Some bloke yer get in a fight with, an' yer decide to dice him up?  Some bird who turns yer down at the disco, so yer slit her throat behind the bins?  Lose yer temper wi' that lass yer follow around like she's got all the answers to the universe, and yer give her a quick slash wi' that knife-"_

_"I wouldn't do anything like that!  I'm not crazy!"_

_"Yeah, an' I'm tellin' yer that sane people don't go round killin' animals for no reason, yer sick fuck."  He brandishes his belt, the buckle gleaming in the moonlight. "Face the wall."_

_"Da, please."_

_"Put yer hands against it, an' bend over."_

_"Da, I'm begging you.  Don't do this.  Not out here where the neighbours can see."_

_"The neighbours are gonna be the last thing yer'll need ter worry about if yer don't get yer hands against the wall right fuckin' now."  He snaps the belt in the air with a thundering crack, and Severus quickly complies, his legs trembling with fear.  "An' yer can just be thankful I ain't gonna make yer count."_

* * *

There's a flurry of activity - of voices, of dark laughter, of retreating footsteps - and he's vaguely aware of Lucius throwing a robe over him.  He assumes it's an attempt to protect his modesty, but the material hurts so much when it makes contact with the wounds on his back, he immediately shakes it off.  He considers attempting to stand, but the idea of it makes him feel queasy, and even though he's been left alone, he isn't entirely sure he's actually been dismissed - the last thing he wants is for this to have all been pointless, and to end up being held under Cruciatus because of yet another stupid mistake.

The floor is deliciously cool against his hot face, and he whimpers against the tile.  He isn't sure how long he lies there - it might've been sixty seconds, or sixty minutes - but then there's a tight grip around his bicep, and someone trying to pull him upright.  He grunts in protest - he doesn't really want to stay here, half-naked and bleeding on this strange floor in this unknown location, but the thought of moving his aching body is equally distressing.

"Come on," says Lucius, urgently.  He bundles up Severus' clothing, and holds it underneath his left arm, and hoists the younger man until he's standing, one arm looped pathetically over Lucius' own shoulder.  He jabs Severus' wand into his hand. "I'll Apparate us-"

"No," Severus says, thickly.  "Home."

Lucius lowers his voice.  "You know I can't Apparate us to yours-"

"Floo."

"The Manor is blocked, and I thought you'd taken the same precaution?"

"Aurors."  Severus' eyes flutter closed.

Lucius looks a little guilty as the meaning of Severus' words sinks in.  "I'll find us a fireplace," he says.  "And then I'll get that blocked up again."

"Azkaban."

"They won't put you in Azkaban for having a blocked Floo," Lucius says, his voice oddly soft.

"Said they will."  And as if using more than one word in a sentence was the final blow, Severus' eyes close completely, leaving Lucius to drag his dead weight to the nearest fireplace.

* * *

_"It wasn't for no reason!" he sobs between blows.  "It wasn't for no fucking reason, I swear!"_

* * *

He lies on their bed, his stomach pressed against the mattress, whilst Lucius stalks around in a circle.

"When will she be home?"

"I don't know.  Didn't even know she was going out."  He winces.  "She probably got tired of waiting for me to show up for tea.  I said I'd be back by five."

Lucius tuts, and checks his watch.  "It's half seven."

"Yeah, and telling me the time still doesn't help me know where she is."

"I don't want to leave you on your own."

Severus groans.  "I'm fine.  Really."

"Really?"

"Well, you're making me feel seasick with your pacing."

"I meant your-"

"I know what you meant, but you'll wear a hole in my carpet if you keep that up."

Lucius doesn't apologise, but he ceases his pacing, and sits on a corner of the bed, the mattress sagging slightly with his added weight.  "Does it still hurt?"

"Of course it still hurts.  Wouldn't be much of a punishment if it didn't hurt, would it?"

"I suppose not."

Severus sighs.  "You can go, Malf.  I don't need a carer."

"I'll wait until she gets back."

* * *

_She rattles the spoon in the mug, stirring his drink furiously, and then she presses the teabag against the rim, squeezing out the last drops of tea._

_"Thanks," he says, taking the mug from her, holding the sides instead of the handle.  The china is so hot, it scalds his hands, but instead of adjusting his hold or putting it down, he grips it more tightly, as if he's relishing the pain._

_She watches him curiously, taking a small sip from her own hot mug, her fingers curled around the cooler handle.  "Is that why?"_

_"Why what?"_

_She taps his hot mug.  "Masochism, they call it."_

_"You think I wanted him to beat me?"  His voice is higher, incredulous.  "Fuck me-"_

_"Don't swear!"_

_"-you're the one who keeps letting him hit you!  You're the one who wouldn't leave him.  Wouldn't stand up to him.  I never asked for any of that."  He jerks his shoulder, indicating to his torn back.  "Or this."_

_"No?"  Her enquiry is mild - a soft, taunting smile playing on her lips._

_"Bloody hell, Mam," he says, looking stunned.  "You're as crazy as he is."_

_"And you're as crazy as we both are," she says.  "Killer."_

_He looks wounded.  "Yeah well," he shoots back, hotly.  "If I'm messed in the head, it's because of you pair.  You've made me like this!"_

_"Us?  I doubt it."  She stares at him now, her expression serious.  "If it had been a cat you'd skinned, I'd have said it was a Manticore-"_

_He jolts at her unnerving insight but doesn't respond._

_She doesn't need him to - his reaction is enough, and she smiles broadly before continuing.  "Well done, Eileen.  You can take the witch out of the wizarding world…"  She pauses for a moment. "So?  If it wasn't a Manticore, what was it?"_

_He shakes his head, and sips his tea, but Eileen isn't letting the issue go._

_"I see.  He told you not to tell anyone, didn't he?  Made you swear it."  She purses her lips.  "A wizard's oath, perhaps?"_

_Her eyes narrow when he shakes his head again._

_"Or just a young boy's honour?" she guesses._

_He gives a stiff nod._

_She huffs a cold laugh.  "I should come back with you. Give him what for."_

_"You can't.  He'll think I told you."_

_"And then he'll throw you out."  She exhales heavily.  "You need to finish school to keep your wand."_

_"I know."_

_"...so is it out of your system now?"_

_He stares at the half-filled mug, and runs a long finger around the rim.  "...I don't know."_

_"Your father won't let you back here in the holidays if you're going to slaughter the whole neighbourhood's pets."_

_"I know.  I'm sorry."_

_"Are you?"_

* * *

"How long?"

"Weeks," he says, bitterly.  "This'll be weeks."  He inhales unsteadily.  "Some punishments were worse than others.  Sometimes it'd heal pretty fast, and you'd only really be in blistering pain for the first couple of days.  But this?  This was the worst I ever had," he says, "and believe me, it was weeks."

Lucius looks aghast that Severus is able to make such comparisons between punishments, unable to tear his gaze from Severus' damaged back.  "He did it often, then?"

"Often enough."

"I can't do anything to help," Lucius says, sounding exasperated.  "Dittany's not working - it's as if he's cursed the marks.  Is there anything…"  He trails off, and looks as if the words are being pulled from him with force.  "Could you…  ...in the Muggle world…  What did you do?  He won't have thought of prohibiting a Muggle remedy, so-"

"Nothing."

" _Nothing_?  Nothing at all?"  Lucius looks horrified.  "But-"

"There was this one time," Severus says, and with his light tone, it sounds as if he's reminiscing about a particularly joyful family holiday, "when I was pretty small, and Lily's parents saw, and they rang the social."

"The social?"

"Social Services.  It's this Muggle thing.  The authorities.  They make sure that everyone's looking after their kids properly - not starving them, or abusing them, or-"

"-beating them?"

"Yeah."

"And what happened?  They stopped it?"

"Did they fuck," Severus says, softly.  "What happened, Malf, is that my da came home and hit the roof.  He beat seven shades of shit out of my mam for letting them in through the door in the first place, and I remember her screaming as he banned me from ever seeing Lily or her family again.  Then, when I thought he'd finished, he turned to me and beat seven shades-"

Lucius holds up his hand to stop him from speaking.  "I can guess the rest."

"Yeah."

"You know, Severus, you really do tell the most charming stories."

* * *

_They stare at each other for a long time, before she snakes her weathered hand out to hold his.  "I won't repeat a word you say.  Not to him, not to the school, not to anyone."_

_Once more he shakes his head, and she grips his hand more tightly, trying to force him to speak._

_"You enjoyed it, didn't you, Severus?"_

_He's frozen to the spot, one hand being held by his mother, the other still gripping his lukewarm tea.  "...I…"_

_"...yes?"_

_"...I enjoyed it."  He screws his eyes up tightly.  "I enjoyed killing it, Mam."  And then his chest heaves.  "Da's right, isn't he?  That makes me a psychopath or-"_

_"Shhhh," she says, squeezing his hand more tightly still.  "Were you thinking of him when you did it?  The boy?  The wolf?"_

_"Yeah."_

_"Then I wouldn't say that makes you a psychopath," she says.  "Your father doesn't understand what it is to be in genuine fear of your life.  But you weren't torturing an animal for fun - you were getting revenge, weren't you?"_

_"Yeah."_

_"A demonstration of your power?  A test?"_

_"...yeah."_

_"And you're not going to do it again, are you?"  And her voice hardens now. "Promise me, Severus."_

_"...but-"_

_"I don't care," she says, her voice low, "how good it felt.  That's your true punishment.  Not the beating."_

_"...I don't understand."_

_"You opened Pandora's box, Severus - and now you have to live with the knowledge that you're not just capable of killing, but that you like it.  That you enjoy it.  But that-"_

_"-I can never ever do it again."_

_"Yes.  Now promise me."_

_"I promise, Mam."_

_"Good boy."_


	21. Eligible chaps

She doesn't go to every Order meeting.  Not through lack of desire, but Dumbledore and his fellow leaders are canny - the collection of witches and wizards are rightly wary, and Lily's not stupid; she quickly realises they're deliberately spreading information through different groups of people, trying to establish if there's any sort of leak.  Given her bed partner and his apparent refusal to sit amongst them, she knows she's viewed with more suspicion than most, so she's gratified when Diggle contacts her for the third time in a week - _is this acceptance?_

Lily sits, and Potter immediately sits next to her, with Black and Pettigrew next to him.

"Hi."

"Hi yourself," she says, and nods curtly to the other two boys, who barely raise a hand in greeting.  "Fourth musketeer got better things to do?  Or not invited?"

"He's channelling Hank," quips Black, leaning back on his chair, and clocking the entrants.  "Here comes Bones."

"She's missed at least a fortnight," Pettigrew notes.  "Didn't Moody say she'd gone on holiday?"

Potter flashes a grin at Lily, and whispers under his breath.  "The Ministry believed she'd gone on holiday.  We know she went undercover.  I think Gideon said she'd been tracking remote creatures."

"How does Gideon know that, and not Moody?"

He gives her a strange look.  "Moody knew."

"But-"

"Moody is selective with the truth," Potter says, but before he can continue, Black bangs on the table.

"Hey hey, Vance is here!  It's been so long, I thought she'd gone dark."

"More chance of you doing that than her," Pettigrew laughs, and then groans as Black thumps his arm far harder than was strictly necessary.

"Where's Remus?" she tries again.  "Channelling Hank?"  

Potter and Black chuckle, and she's embarrassed that they understand, and she's as confused as Pettigrew appears to be.  She fleetingly wonders how he copes with being the only one of the group not to grasp every observation, or joke, or wry comment made by the rest of his friends - but then she realises that Pettigrew's not listening to their conversation; his attention has been diverted by Alice and Frank who have taken the seats on his left side - and she feels a little ashamed that she'd judged his intellect so sharply.

"Thought you'd know him," Black says loudly, pulling her back from her thoughts, "with your background."

"He's a Muggle singer," Potter explains.  He drums his fingers on the table, and starts to sing.  "You got me chasin' rabbits, walkin' on my hands, and howlin' at the moon."

"Owwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww," Black leans over and harmonises.

"...I've heard that somewhere before," she says, a crease appearing between her eyebrows.

"Yeah, I reckon," Black says, with a sneer.  "Your man used to sing it in the corridors between classes."

"Without the howl," Potter quickly adds.  "He was a bit sharper than that." 

She shifts uncomfortably.  She can't remember Severus behaving in such a way, but then she didn't follow him down every corridor in their schooldays.  

"So we adopted it," Potter adds.

"Private joke and all that."  Black shrugs.  "Not that this time of the month is very funny for him."

She doesn't know what to say in response, and she's relieved when the door slams shut, and Dumbledore calls for the meeting to start.  

* * *

Lucius glances over at Severus, who is becoming whiter as the minutes tick by.  "Is it getting worse?"

"No."

"You're deathly pale."  Lucius appraises the wounds on Severus' back, checking for any obvious blood loss.  "Are you still bleeding?"

"No."  He sighs loudly.  "I appreciate your help, Malf, but you should get back to Cissy."

"I'm not leaving you on your own," Lucius says, firmly, and he looks again at his pocket watch.  "Twenty past nine."  There's a horrible silence, punctuated only by the sounds of the street drifting up from outside.  "...you're worried about her, aren't you?"

"You should get back to Narcissa."

"And leave you to go hunting for your Mu-"  He stops himself from using a slur, but gives Severus a look of disdain.  "You're not in a fit state to go anywhere."

"Yeah?  ...and what if she's hurt, Malf?  What use am I to her just lying here?"

"You're the one who's hurt!" Lucius yells, furiously.

* * *

The meeting is long and miserable, and the only bright moment is her realisation that Moody has stopped actively glaring at her from over the table.  The reports of Ministry infiltration are difficult to listen to, and everyone's expressions are grave throughout.  When Dearborn pipes up - and it's the first time she's ever heard him speak - and informs the young members that they're all to take exceptional care, both Pettigrew and Potter look troubled, and even the ever-cocky Black exhales loudly.

When the meeting is finally called to a close, Amelia Bones beckons her over, and Lily finds herself standing between her and Emmeline Vance - two of the most magically powerful women in the group - both sipping coffee.  Neither of them offers her a cup, but she tries not to read anything into their actions.

"Given your silence until now, I expect you have nothing for me?"

"Not really, Amelia" she admits, feeling ashamed - and useless.  "I know you only gave me one task, but-"

"We would rather you do it properly," Vance says, curtly.

"What Emmeline means," Amelia interjects swiftly, "is that flawed information is of no use to us."

"No," Vance argues, "what I mean is that flawed information is downright dangerous.  It's worse than useless - if we believe it to be true, it can lead us to commit resources to the wrong target."  She leans a little closer, and Lily can smell the coffee on her breath.  "It's not just that we're wasting time and effort on the wrong person, but it's the distraction.  It's the fact that whilst we're looking to the left, the real culprit is scot free on the right.  Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"So, I don't want quick information; I want correct information."  Vance leans back, her gaze fixed on Lily's face, scrutinising her.  "...you are a surprise."

"Me?"

Vance waves her hand distractedly.  "You're very pretty.  It's not usually the pretty ones."

"I don't…  I'm not sure what you're saying?"

"There's usually something wrong," Vance says, briskly.  "Too tall, too short, too fat, too thin, not very bright, bad hair, crooked teeth-"

"Wrong blood?"

"Good answer," mutters Amelia.

"My point is," Vance says, as if neither of the two women had spoken, "what is a nice girl like you doing with _him_?"

Her fists ball by her sides.  "I am becoming rather tired of that question."

Amelia's lips quirk in amusement.  "Now now, Emmeline - a girl can't help who she falls for."

Vance doesn't look impressed.  "Really?  There's plenty of eligible chaps in this group.  Plenty of eligible chaps who aren't Death Eat-"

"He's not a Death Eater!"  She realises too late that her voice is a little loud, and the room falls silent, all attention suddenly on their small group of three.

* * *

Lucius is pacing again.  Severus can't watch - he's still lying face down, his face now nestled in his forearms - but he can hear the thud of his friend's boots as he stamps around in circles.  

"She'll tell me off."

"She'll tell _you_ off?"

"For your boots," he explains, his voice muffled.  "She'll think it's me.  She's always telling me off about wearing my boots indoors."  Then there's some shuffling, and gentle thudding, and when Severus looks up, Lucius is stood before him in his socks.  "I didn't mean for you to take them off."

Lucius shrugs.  "I can't have you getting in more trouble tonight, can I?"

"...I'm going to lose my job."

"I'll sort out Jigger."

"Not Jigger," he says, "although Merlin, yes, if you could step in with him-"

"Consider it done."  Lucius stands in front of him.  "The bar job then?"

Severus gives a slight nod.  "I've been missing loads of shifts lately," he says.  "Ros'll think I'm unreliable, and Malf, I need the money."

"I'll go and see her.  Talk to her."

He tips his head up.  "If you go down there now to explain, she'll pass you a cloth, you know.  Get you to stand in."

Lucius laughs lightly.  "I can clean a glass."

"Without magic?  Without elves?  I'll believe it when I see it."  

"Anyway, I've told you - I'm not going anywhere and leaving you alone."

"So what are you going to say to her?"

"I'll explain the circumstances."

Severus looks stricken.  "You can't tell her what happened!  You can't tell anyone-"

Lucius waves his hand, and strides over to the window, peering out again - as if willing Lily to return and take hold of the conversation.  "I'm not going to give her any details.  I'll just…"

"Just?"

" _Convince_ her."

Severus exhales loudly.  "There's no need for that.  Ros is all right, Malf."

"Merlin, Severus, I'm not going to hurt her."

"No?"

"...I'll just persuade her."  He shrugs, and turns back to his friend, a smile dancing on his lips.  "And I can be very persuasive."

* * *

"Hey," he says, grabbing her elbow as she makes for the door.  "Where are you slinking off to so soon?"

"I thought you'd want to go with Black and see Lupin?" she says.  She looks behind her, seeing Black talking animatedly to Pettigrew, showing him something from his pocket.

Potter nods.  "Sure I do, but I can go later."  At her look of surprise, he quickly adds, "I always walk you back.  I've got time for us to do that before I go and visit Remus." 

She doesn't look convinced, and he appraises her, mistaking her unsure look for concern.  

"He's okay," he says, giving a half-laugh. "Blimey, I didn't know you cared so much."

And then she really does look confused, and he immediately mirrors her expression.  "Wait," she says, "who do you think I'm worried about?"

"It's fine, you can come with us, I'm sure he won't mind-"

"No," she says, quickly.  "I don't want to see Remus.  I mean, I hope he's ok but-"

"-you weren't worrying about him," Potter realises.

"I was debating going down the Broomsticks," she admits, pulling her robe around her a little more tightly.  

"Oh.  I see.  Not Remus.   _Snape_."

She rolls her eyes.  " _Severus_ ," she corrects, with equal feeling.  "...something's not right."

"You're fretting over nothing," Potter says, slinging his arm over her shoulder, and giving her a half-hearted hug.  "Sniv- _Severus_ ," he quickly catches himself at her dark look, "was always the same at school - too involved in his brewing.  He's just lost track of time at Jigger's and made himself late for work.  He'll come in tonight after his shift like nothing even happened."

"Yeah."  She sounds unconvinced.

"...we can go and check.  ...if you like?"

She untangles herself from his hold, and gives him an incredulous look.  "I'm not walking in the Three Broomsticks with you - if Severus _is_ there-"

"Which he will be."

"-then he'd have a heart attack on the spot!"

"So what then?" he retorts.  "You can't go alone - not with the restricted purchasing laws.  Someone will challenge you if they see you freely out and about, hanging around in a bar with intent."  

Her expression is defiant.  "I'll peer through the window."

"You won't," he says, sternly.  "I'm taking you home, and then I'll go back and check."

"...I don't want to-"

"Nobody will think twice about me being there - I'm just another pureblood wizard out for a drink."

"But Severus-"

"I'm not going to stay," he says.  "I'll walk in, spy him behind the bar, make some excuse and walk straight back out.  Easy."

* * *

Lucius is staring out of the window, peering at the people who pass - and then he turns, decisively.  "Got an owl?"

"Yeah, I've got six out the back," Severus drawls, not lifting his head from the mattress.  "Take your pick."

"...funny."

"I thought so."

There's a long moment, and then Lucius pushes open the window, and as the cool evening air rushes in, he casts - calling an owl from Malfoy Manor.

"Malf…"

"I'm going to ask a friend, that's all," he says.  

Severus drops his head back onto his crossed forearms, not wanting to look at his friend.  "Arrests?"

Lucius winces.  "I was thinking admissions to Mungo's."

"Oh."

"...but you're right," Lucius says, softly.  "If she's been wandering out alone at this time of night, I'll have to check the Auror office as well.  They do a sweep of Knockturn around this time."

At that, Severus makes a weird noise - a mixture between a cough and a sob, and Lucius is back by his side.  When Severus doesn't move, Lucius gently reaches forward, and rests his fingertips on Severus' scalp.  It's semi-comforting, which Severus realises is the intention, and doesn't pull away.  "It's my fault," he eventually croaks.  "She'll have been looking for me, and now she's-"

"We don't know-"

"I know!  I bloody well know!"

"You _don't_ know."  

"I _do_ know, Malf, because she's always here, and now she's not."  He looks up, his eyes filling with tears.  "And I can't do it again, Malf.  I can't get her out of whatever mess she's in this time."

"But I can," Lucius says, firmly.  "And I will."

* * *

Her crack of Apparition is quieter this time, and as they land, Potter stares up at her flat.  

"Hey, I think he's there," he says, pointing at a shadow that quickly disappears.

"Where?"

"...I saw someone in the window," he says.

She looks up, anxiously, but there's no movement.  "It's probably just a shadow from an owl or something."  She pulls her robe tight, and walks towards the flat, turning and frowning when Potter follows her.  "I thought you were going to the Broomsticks?"

"I'm not letting you go up there alone."

"Potter-"

"I'm serious," he says.  "Either that's him, and I don't need to go to the pub, or it's…"  He trails off, looking concerned.  "I won't take no for an answer."

* * *

"Did you hear that?"

"I didn't just hear it; I saw it."  Lucius' face is drawn.

"Was it her?"

He nods, and Severus bounces up from his position on the bed.  Lucius raises a calming hand.

"What?"  His elation quickly disappears at his friend's reaction.  "What is it?  Is she hurt?"

"Put something on," Lucius says, grabbing a t-shirt from the top of the wash bin.  Severus sniffs it, and looks at it dubiously.  "I know it might sting, but you don't want your wounds to be the first thing she sees, do you?"  They both pause, as Severus thinks it over, and then Lucius presses.  "You need to find out where she's been - if she sees this, she's going to question you, and not the other way around."

He's right - so Severus carefully slides the fabric over his head, wincing as the cotton brushes his back - and just as he straightens it, he hears the front door open.

"I told you - he's not here."

"Where's that window look out from?" a male voice booms, and Severus' stomach flips over.

"The bedroom," Lily answers.

"Then we don't know he's not here until we've checked.  I definitely saw someone in the window."

"You did indeed," says Lucius smoothly, yanking the bedroom door open.  "You saw _me_."


	22. I think we should both be alone

Potter's breath catches in his throat, making his voice slightly strained when he speaks, but his incredulous tone says more than his choice of words.  "Is that..?"  And he takes another step forwards, as if he doesn't trust his eyesight.  "Lucius Malfoy?"

"Indeed," says Lucius.  The silence that follows is palpable - Lucius stands in the doorway, his frame seemingly filling the space, and Potter stands next to Lily, his hand by his side, but his wand firmly clenched in it.  Lily's eyes dart left and right, as if silently checking the flat and its contents, and then she suddenly notices Lucius' socked feet.

"He's here," she says, simply - correctly guessing that Lucius wouldn't have taken his boots off of his own accord.

Lucius gives a stiff nod.

"But why are you?" Potter blurts out, unable to keep his silence.

"I could ask you the very same question," Lucius says smoothly.  "I suspect your answer will be that someone who lives here invited you in?"  He shrugs.  "I shall leave you to draw your own conclusions."

Lily takes a step forwards towards the bedroom, but Lucius blocks her way.  "Move," she says.

"I think not."  

"Move now," and her voice is suddenly low and fierce.  "I want to see him.  I _need_ to see him."

"Well, he does not need to see you," Lucius says, dismissively.  He reaches behind him, grabs the door handle and pulls it behind him so it almost shuts.  He deliberately leaves a gap, ensuring that Severus can listen clearly through the opening, but his message to Lily and Potter is clear; they're to talk to him - not Severus.

"It's my house.  It's my bedroom!  You can't stop me."

"I can, and I will," Lucius says firmly.  "Severus is asleep.  He took ill at work - an allergic reaction to some ingredients, I believe - and when you could not be contacted, it was requested that I look after him.  I took him to the Manor to recuperate for a few hours, and when he worsened, he was asking for you - so I brought him home."  A slow smile creeps across his face, but there's no sincerity in his eyes.  "Imagine my surprise to find his flat completely empty, and his girlfriend nowhere to be found - not a note, not an owl…"  He lets the words hang in the air for a moment before continuing, "and without his lovely girlfriend to aid him, I found the task of nursing him fell to myself."  His pale eyes seem to pierce her own.  "Of course, Severus assures me that something urgent must've occurred for you to be absent, although-" and he checks his watch, "-due to the hour, he had started to fret that some terrible ill had befallen you.  It took all of my strength to wrestle him back to his bed, such was his distress."

She flushes at the implied comparison between his care for her, and her for him.  "I _was_ worried-"

"She was helping me," Potter blurts out, desperately trying to cover for her.

"Oh!  Oh, of course.  She was...helping _you_ ," Lucius says, deliberately, elongating the words.  "My, why didn't you both say so in the first place?"  He shoots them both another cold smile.  "Now that we know the truth, I am quite sure that Severus will understand."

"I need to talk to him-" Lily starts, but as she moves forward, Lucius blocks her way again.

"No."

"You should let her see him," Potter argues, leading the three of them to square off by the bedroom door.  "He'll want to see her."

Lucius puts his arms out to the side, holding the door frame on either side, making the barricade clear, and with Lily's way blocked, he turns his attention to Potter.  "You said she was helping," he says, softly. "Helping you to do what, precisely?"

Potter draws himself up to his full height, and meets Lucius' eye.  "None of your business."

"Of course," Lucius says, smiling once more.  "How terribly rude of me.  Now, do remind me of your name, what is it?  Porter?  Cotter?  Rotter?"

"Potter," he hisses.

" _Potter_.  Yes, how forgetful of me."

"No matter what happened tonight," Lily says, stepping between the pair, and attempting to break the building tension between the two men, "I'm home now.  So, thank you for bringing him back, Lucius, and I'm sure that Severus appreciates your help, but I think we should both be alone now."

"You should both be alone?  Tell me, is that you and Severus?" Lucius inquires, mildly.  "Or yourself and your young man here?"

Both Lily and Potter talk over each other as they try to refute the idea.

"He's not my-"

"I was just seeing if she-"

At their hasty denials, Lucius raises an eyebrow.  "Ah, now do forgive me.  It was simply that as you entered, it sounded as if you wished to be alone together?  It sounded as if you believed that Severus would be at work, leaving you both free to-"

"No," Lily interrupts firmly, "I was worried about Severus.  James was going to help."

"Oh I see!"  And now Lucius' grin is so broad, it does reach his eyes.  " _James_ was always such a good friend of Severus', wasn't he?  I see why you would run to him. And tell me, where have you searched for your boyfriend?  Jigger's laboratory, where Severus studies during the day?  Or did you call on Rosmerta in the Three Broomsticks, where Severus is employed of an evening?  Or his friends, perhaps?  Unfortunately, I was not at home to take a social visit, but I am certain that my lovely wife would've directed you to me had that been the case.  Or did you decide to start here, at his home," and he checks his watch again, "at ten to eleven at night?"  He chuckles.  "By now, of course, Severus has only been missing for what is it?  4 hours?  6 hours?"  He laughs again, almost revelling in Lily's discomfort.  "Well, what's a few hours between friends and lovers?"

Lily draws a deep breath, composing herself, and then stands up to Lucius.  "I think you should leave."

He leans down to her ear, his long hair glancing her shoulder as he hisses.  "Gladly."  He pushes the bedroom door open, and - still blocking the way - summons his boots.  He steps into them swiftly, and then he stands, back straight, and tosses his hair.  "Good evening, Evans," he says, in a formal goodbye.  "And to you too, Trotter."

Potter's jaw is set as Lucius leaves, the older wizard's steps heavy on the outside stairs.  "He's such a git."

"He is, but he's also right," Lily says, eyeing the half-open bedroom door.  "You shouldn't be here."

"I want to make sure you're all right-"

" _I'm_ fine," she snaps.  "And I want to see Severus is okay."

"Severus is fine," comes a dark silky voice from behind the door, causing both Lily and Potter to stiffen, and then Severus steps into the light.  "But he thinks it's time you left, Potter."

"Snape-"

"Leave."

"I was just-"

"Leave."

Potter looks towards Lily, who is fiddling with her bracelet and staring at the floor.  "Are you okay?  You can come with me.  You don't have to stay here with him-"

"I am not going to ask you again," Severus says, coolly, stepping forward, his wand gripped tightly and pointing straight between Potter's eyes.  "Get the _fuck_ out of my house."

* * *

She sits on the sofa, twisting her hands together.  "Sev, please?  We need to talk about this, and if you're not feeling well, you shouldn't be..."  She swallows hard, not wanting to think about what he's doing behind her.  "You should be in bed.  Resting.  Getting well, not getting yourself all wound up with nonsense and things that don't matter."  

He doesn't answer, and carries on opening drawers and cupboards, tossing anything of hers to one side as he rummages.  

"Sev, come on," she implores.  "Come to bed with me."

At this, he makes an odd pained sound, and then he throws the ornament he's holding at the wall, and it smashes into several pieces.  Immediately, she jumps up, her mouth gaping.  "Severus!  Don't-"

"Don't what?"  His thin face is filled with anger, and his narrowed eyes have an odd gleam to them.  "It's just an ornament.  Just some painted plaster or china or terracotta or whatever the hell it is.  It doesn't mean anything.  Not really."

"It does to me."

"Does it?  Does it mean something to you, Lily?"

"Yes.  It's sentimental."

" _Sentimental_?"  He laughs, and it's a horrible stark laugh that echoes around the flat.  "You want to talk to me about feelings?"  He sweeps his hand across the top of the table in a fit of rage, brushing everything - mugs, plates, newspapers, coasters, quills, parchment - all onto the floor, the items clattering around them.  "Well, Lily, I don't give a fuck about your feelings."

"Sev-"

"And the only fucking reason you haven't followed your lover-"

"He's not my lover!"

"-through that door-"

"-is because I know too much?" she challenges, stepping in front of him, and pushing his chest lightly.  "That's why, isn't it?  Because I know all about your scummy dealings, and your dark associates, and-"

He looks astonished, and his voice is shrill.  "Know too much?  Know too much?"  He shakes his head, and grabs the back of her neck, pulling her forehead hard against his own.  "No, Lily, it's not because you know too much."

She swallows hard, and tries to look away from his dark eyes.  "No?"

"No," and he tightens his grip, "because you know _fuck_ all."

She winces.  "Don't, Sev, you're hurting-"

"Good.  Because you need to understand this:  this has nothing to do with anyone else.  This is me and you."  He stares deep into her eyes, and she finds it unnerving - those same dark eyes which have followed her movements for years, those same eyes that held such love and such promise, and now they're hard - as if they, and he, are completely closed off to her.  He gives a choked laugh.  "In fact, this isn't me and you.  This is you.  This is all you.   _You've_ done this."

"I haven't-"

He carries on as if she hasn't spoken.  "It'd be easy if you simply knew too much.  Lucius will be the first to tell you, there's ways of silencing people who know too much.  Temporarily."  He shrugs casually.  "Permanently.  It's no difference.  They're all just obstacles.  Easy to get over."

"What are you saying?  I'm an obstacle?"

"No, but I fucking hope you're easy to get over," he spits, pulling away suddenly.

"Sev, no!  No, don't do this, not like this-"  She grabs at his sleeve, but misses and lightly catches his back, causing him to yelp in pain.  "Sev?" she asks, surprised at his disproportionate reaction.  "Are you-"

"The problem," he shouts loudly, ignoring her question and shutting his bag with a flourish, "isn't that you know too much!  No.  No, it'd be a lot easier that way."  He pauses for a long moment, grabbing his robes from the back of the chair and screwing them into a ball, and then, his face twisted in anguish and wringing the dark cloth between his long fingers, he whispers, "...the problem is that I love you."  

She takes a step towards him again, but this time, he holds his arms outstretched before him, as if fending her away, creating a barrier between the two of them.  "That's not a problem, Sev. I lov-"

"No," he interrupts, "no, you don't.  You can't."

"I do-"

"You don't, because you wouldn't have done…"  And then he stops, his expression filled with anguish.  "Lily, I love you more than anything…anything that's ever been in my life..."  He draws to a halt, as if he can't speak.

"And I love you, Sev," she says desperately, tears falling down her face, her arms reaching for him.  "Please.  Let's talk about it.  Don't do this.  Don't do this to us."

He shakes his head.  "I might love you, Lily, but right now, I can't even fucking look at you."

And then, with a bang of the door, and the clatter of his feet on the stairs, he's gone.


	23. Are you in?

She's never slept in this bed without him.  They'd both had occasions when one had stayed awake longer than the other, and both had turned in without their lover lying next to them.  They might be partners, but they aren't joined at the hip.  It isn't unusual for one to stay up reading, or listening to the radio, or to go out with friends and stumble in - worse for wear - several hours after the other had long fallen asleep, but this is different.  She's never ever gone to their bed knowing that he wasn't going to join her at some point over the next few hours.  Until this night, she's never closed her eyes in this bed, knowing that when she next opens them, she'll still be alone and he won't be lying next to her.

By the time dawn breaks, she still hasn't slept without him.  Instead of sleeping, she pulls his pillow to her face, breathing in his scent and watching the door desperately.  Every time the flat creaks, or there's the smallest noise outside, she hopes that he'll swing the door open, and pull his clothes off, dropping them haphazardly onto the floor - for her to pick up in the morning - and then he'll slide under the covers, pressing his ice cold body against her own, using her body heat to warm himself.

He doesn't.

By the fourth night, she finally sleeps, but not because she's any less miserable - merely through exhaustion.  At the end of the week, she knows the bedding is long overdue a change, and although fresh laundry is stacked ready in the cupboard, she can't bring herself to strip the sheets and rid her bed of his scent.

She doesn't know where he's gone - she visits the lab, and Jigger seems to think he's at some Potions Conference with Slughorn that cropped up at short notice.  She quickly chases Slughorn, but he doesn't answer her calls - _but then, if he really was at a Potions Conference, he couldn't answer anyway, could he?_   The only other person she could think of trying was Lucius, but he's consistently unavailable - _at a Potions Conference too_ , she thinks, spitefully - and despite his cowed house elves desperately insisting that they were conveying her messages to their master, he simply doesn't answer.  She doesn't dare venture into Rosmerta's - and if Severus isn't at Jigger's, she reasons he can't be working in the Broomsticks either; even old Jigger would notice if Severus was too busy to attend the lab during the day, but managing to sweep up a bar in Hogsmeade of an evening.

She goes back to Cokeworth on more than one occasion, but Spinner's End seems to get darker each time she visits.  The Snape house is starting to look increasingly like the others on the block - no signs of life at all, as if it was derelict.   _It can't be derelict.  Where would they go?_    She stands outside and frowns; she can't recall Severus saying his parents were going away - she can't even remember a single time that Tobias or Eileen had ever been on holiday.  

It's on her third visit, when she's almost given up, that she finally sees Tobias and Eileen walking down the street together.  She runs up to them, but the couple barely acknowledge her, an entirely unsuitable response to her enthusiastic greeting.  They quickly make their excuses to depart, evidently not wanting to engage her in more than a quiet hello, but even as she plays the meeting over and over in her head, she has to acknowledge that there's nothing untoward; Severus himself would be the first to attest that neither of his parents were particularly warm or welcoming, and he was their own flesh and blood.   

_He can't be here_ , she reasons.   _They'd have said something._

So then she walks back over the river, her head down and the wind whipping bitterly around her face and through her hair.  When she rings the bell, and her mother answers, her resolve finally crumbles.  Instead of a hello, she greets her mother with a heaving, wracking sob - and she cries so hard, it takes twenty minutes to convince Rose that somebody hasn't died.

"Right, young lady, you're staying with us," her mother says, plumping the pillows and smoothing down the sheets in Lily's old bedroom.  "You're all set up here.  No reason to go back there."

"But what if he turns up and I'm not in the flat?  What if he leaves again and-"

"And if he's ready to talk, he'll find you.  You're at our house, Lily, not an unmapped catacomb.  He's a clever lad, he'll work it out."

"I suppose."

Rose stands, her hands on her hips.  "Lily, love, whatever's happened between you, he's not going to throw away your relationship-"

"I think I already did that for us."

Rose sighs, pulling her youngest daughter into a tight embrace.  "If it's meant to be, it can be fixed.  I'm a firm believer in that."  She lightly brushed her fingers through Lily's hair. "Do you think you and Severus are meant to be?"

Lily gives a half sob.  "I thought so."

"I thought so too," Rose says, softly.  "I didn't at first-"

Lily pulls back, as if she's been stung.  "You don't-"

"When you were little," her mother continues, ignoring the interruption, "I thought he'd just be a friend, and then when you started seeing each other…"

"What?"

Rose gives her a small smile.  "You're the best thing that ever happened to him, Lily.  The surprise to me and your father wasn't that Severus was keen on you."

"No?"

"No.  It was that you returned his attention."  She kisses her daughter on her forehead.  "And if you love him, I don't see wild horses keeping him away from you.  He _knows_ you're the best thing that's ever happened to him."  She pats the bed.  "Get some sleep.  He'll come for you, I'm sure."

But he doesn't.

* * *

"What's with her?"  The door doesn't quite shut as she storms up the stairs, and Lily hears Petunia questioning her father.

"You've heard of GMT and BST?"

"Yes, Daddy."

"Well, we're working on AS time," her father says, carefully.

"AS time?" booms Vernon's loud voice.  "And what's that then?"

"After Severus."  There's a pause, as if her father's thinking.  "And if my calculations are correct, we're only in the 275th hour."

"She's counting their break up in hours?"

"We're _all_ counting it in hours," she hears her mother saying, and then Lily slams her bedroom door shut so she doesn't have to hear them talking about her any longer.

* * *

"I need to go back," she explains, promising her mother that she'll be in touch every day.  "I'll never forgive myself if he's there without me, waiting for me."

When she opens the door to the flat, it's strangely cold, and a little eerie.  There's still mess strewn over the floor, and cupboard doors left open where he'd been gathering his belongings.  There's a funny smell in the fridge, and a mark on the wall where he broke the ornament.  The air in the bedroom seems stale, and their bedding a little musty, and it almost breaks her heart to crack open the window - and before she can think better of it, she forces herself to change the bedding.  As she bundles the sheets up, she presses her nose to them, desperate to smell him - and then she retrieves his used pillow case, and throws it back on the bed. _I need something of him_.

* * *

She stays there, barely eating, hardly living.  Each day, she prays there'll be something - _anything_ \- from the post owl, but there isn't.  There's nothing from Lucius, or Jigger, or Slughorn, or Rosmerta.  It's as if Severus has vanished - as if he never existed in the first place.  When a letter finally does arrive, her heart tightens and her chest clenches, and her fingers shake as she tears the envelope open - but when she realises it's from Potter, she drops it to the ground without reading anything further than the salutation.

* * *

"I'm not home," she yells through the window when she sees Black and Potter stood outside in the street.

"Evidently."  Black tosses his hair.  "C'mon, Evans, we just want to talk to you."

"I don't…"  She groans. "I can't…  What if he comes home?"

Black mutters something to Potter, and he says something back, and although she can't be certain, she's sure they're debating the odds of Severus returning home in the next ten minutes, given that he's been missing for over a fortnight.

"If he comes home, we can Floo out," Black calls up.  "But if we keep shouting at you from here-"

"-then we'll be the first thing he sees if he does return," Potter finishes.

She stands there for a long moment, unmoving, and just as Black is about to turn on his heel and Disapparate, she nods.

* * *

It's an uncomfortable meeting - both young men standing with their hands braced on the back of the sofa, them not sitting and her not offering them any hospitality.  She can see Black looking around at their furnishings, judging how they live, how their relationship was.  She can almost see him imagining Severus sprawled on the sofa, and eating at the table.

"Well?"

"What do you think?"

She looks furious.  "I don't have time for riddles, Potter," she spits.  "Just tell me-"

"He means, what do you think about his proposal, Evans," Black snarls.  "You don't have to be so angry with us, we've not-"

"All right," Potter mutters in Black's ear, grabbing his arm to control him as Lily glares at them both furiously.  "She's having a rough time, and I've already been thrown out of here once.  Let her off, eh?"  He steps away from Black and nods.  "He's sorry.  We mean, what did you think of my letter?"

She hasn't read it, even though it arrived days earlier.  She plucks it from the table, and quickly scans it.

"She hasn't even read it," Black mutters, angrily.  "Waste of time."

"Shhhhhh!"

She looks confused.  "I heard about the Order of Merlin," she says, folding the letter over and then burning it in the grate by casting at it with her wand.  "But Belby's patented it.  You have to register to be part of the trial.  I'm sure he could-"

"He's not registering," Black says, firmly.  "You know how the Ministry is being infiltrated-"

"-yeah, you heard Vance and Bones and Moody," Potter presses, and she flinches at the names of the Order members.  "That place is full of holes, and word'll get out."

Black looks serious.  "But Vance got us this," and pulls a piece of parchment from out of his robes.

Her jaw nearly drops as she scans the looping script.  "Is this..?"  The methodology is difficult, but not impossible, and not for the first time, she wishes Severus was there - wishes he could see what was in her hands.

"Nobody is licensed to brew it," says Potter.

She looks at them both quizzically.  "I thought Borage had the-"

Black sniffs.  "He brews under agreement, but it's not a licence.  It's not the same."

"I understand the difference," she argues, hotly, and attempts to pass him the parchment back.  She's surprised when he steps back and shakes his head.

"It's yours."

"I can't."

"You can," says Potter, eagerly.  "I know he's good, Lily."  He glances at Black.  "But so were you.  I remember Slughorn saying that you were going to be his protégé.  If it wasn't for these lousy laws…"

"The same lousy laws that will see Remus killed," Black adds darkly.  "This will help him."

"It's not a cure, and his condition isn't a death sentence."

"No?" says Potter, lightly.  "Then you should've taken us up on our offer to visit him last month."  He appraises her.  "I can get the ingredients."

Black glances around the flat.  "And if he's taken his stuff, I can get you the equipment."

Potter claps his hand on her shoulder.  "But we need you."

"I don't know…"

"Not for us," Black says.  "For Remus.  From one person suffering under these stupid laws to another person suffering under them as well."  

When she looks conflicted, the men exchange a small smile.  

"This will change his life," Black presses.

"Well?"  Potter asks.  "What do you say?  Are you in?"


	24. Scrike over a girl

He stands in the small kitchen, watching as the rain beats down on the window.  He loses track of time, spending hours watching the droplets merge into each other and sliding down the glass.  Eileen comes and goes, making porridge and cups of tea, passing him a biscuit, and cutting up sandwiches.  He doesn't move, and she works around him - sometimes humming, sometimes whistling, but never speaking.  Not until gone two, when she wipes down the worktop and then taps his slender forearm.

"Either wash up, or get out."

When he still doesn't move, she rolls her eyes and passes him a tea towel, which he silently accepts.  She shrugs her sleeves up to her elbows, and runs the tap, and after a meagre squirt of washing up liquid, the bubbles build in the sink.

"That's a charm," he says.  "There's no way that tiny squirt made all those bubbles."

She smiles.  "What your father doesn't know won't hurt him."  She taps the washing up liquid bottle.  "Do you know how much Fairy Liquid costs?"

"...no."

She sniffs.  "Don't you wash up, then?  S'pose there's a charm for it these days, is there?"

He wipes a glass, then another, and then puts them in the cupboard.  "She does it."

"Really, Severus," she admonishes.  "I brought you up better than that."

He shakes his head defensively.  "I work.  A lot."  

"And she doesn't?"

There's a long pause as he dries three mugs, carefully wiping the suds from the insides.  "They've brought some laws in."

Eileen freezes, her hands no longer moving in the water.  "Blood laws?"

"Yeah."

"Are you looking after her?"

There's another long pause, and Severus is relieved when his mother finally passes him a plate.  "I was," he says, carefully.  And then he bends over to put the clean plate in the cupboard, and his t-shirt drifts up his back.  He quickly pulls at it, and she looks at the sink.  He stands and turns, tucking the material into his jeans so it won't lift again, and he glances at her, checking her expression.  When she doesn't seem to react, he releases a breath and grabs the cutlery.   _Cutlery's_ _safe_ , he thinks.   _No need to bend over to put these in the drawer_.

"Will she take you back?"

"I dropped her," he says, stiffly.  "It's me who needs to take her back."

"Severus…these laws.  It's not safe for her..."

His jaw juts out, and he puts the tea towel on the table, signalling that the conversation is over, and then he taps her cigarette packet in an unspoken question.

"Help yourself," she says, picking up the tea towel to wipe the last two plates that he's left on the draining board.  She watches him wander out into the yard, lighting the cigarette with a smooth flick of his wand, and she pulls the plug on the sink.

* * *

"You rang?"

Severus looks over at his father, suddenly pulled from his thoughts.  "What?"

"Lurch," Tobias explains.  "Yer look like Lurch."

Severus glances at Eileen, who is peering at her knitting.  "It's on the telly, love," she says.  "He's the butler."

Severus rolls his eyes.  "Makes sense, as per usual."

"Makes sense as per usual," Tobias mutters.  "Yer ain't even seen it.  Yer'd get it if yer saw it."

"Right."

"Sarcastic little shit, y'are."

"You're the one talking nonsense!"

"There's no need to 'ave an argument about every little comment," Tobias huffs, flicking through his newspaper.

"...sorry."

"Yer don't need ter be sorry.  I'm jus' tellin' yer to sit yersel' down, soft lad.  It's unnerving having yer stood int doorway."

Eileen drops a stitch, and her needles still.  "Leave him be, Toby," she says.  "He's not harming anyone if he wants to stand."

"Yeah, I like standing," he says, defensively.

"Then you stay stood there, Severus," she says, kindly, and her son watches her suspiciously, his fingers unconsciously tugging at the hem of his t-shirt.  "It's just nice to have him home."

"Well," Tobias sniffs loudly, "wouldn't quite go that far."

* * *

He's in the kitchen again.  There's no rain today, but he's mesmerised by the sunlight glinting across the yard.

"Washing, or drying?"

"I'll wash," he says, and he squirts a tiny amount of washing up liquid in the sink.   _Bullesco_ , he murmurs, and then grins when the bubbles multiply, glancing excitedly at his mother.  She gives him a pinched smile in return, and he immediately tempers his reaction, causing her to reach for his hand.

"Good," she says - and his smile returns at her praise.

"Wasn't difficult to work out."  He starts scrubbing at the pan that had porridge in it.  "Did you glue this on?" he complains.

"Your father likes it thick."

"Thick?  It's like concrete!"  He attacks the pan again.

"...we saw her today," Eileen ventures, cautiously.

He stops, his back straight, his hands not moving but still submerged in the soapy water.  "She knows I'm here?"

"No."

"What did you say?"

"Hello."

"That it?"  He glances at his mother.  "And him?  What did he say?"

"Same."

"...and her?  She ask about me?"

"No."

Hurt flickers across his expression, and then he composes himself.  "Right then."

"She was looking for you, love."

"Not hard enough," he snaps.

* * *

He moves out of his room, and across the landing, one foot poised to head down the stairs when he hears his father's grumble from the kitchen.

"I'm not sayin' that-"

"It sounds like it," Eileen snaps.  "I'm glad he feels he can come here."

"Two and a half weeks, it's been."  Tobias' voice gets a little louder.  "Eatin' us out of 'ouse and 'ome."

"Hardly," she scoffs.  

Severus sits on the stairs, listening intently to their discussion.  

"He's had a nasty shock," Eileen continues.

Tobias huffs.  "She wasn't gonna stay with 'im, was she?  Blind Freddy could see that.  She's pretty and clever-"

"He's clever!"

"Yeah, but he ain't pretty."

"-he broke up with her, actually," Eileen interrupts.

There's a break, and Severus strains to hear - his father sounds incredulous.  

"Got ideas above his station, 'as he?  Forgot to look in the mirror?  He needs 'is fuckin' 'ead read.  Who else is gonna take up with a lanky streak of piss like 'im, eh?"

"It's not all about looks," Eileen says, briskly.

"I didn't say it were, did I!  She's a nice girl!"

"If he's not happy, then-"

"If yer ask me, he just thinks grass is greener.  That's all.  Collared one, so he reckons he can find another just as easy.  He'll find out he can't."

"The wizarding world is complicated," Eileen murmurs, and he can't pick up on her next sentences.  "...some kind of trouble."

"I'll speak to him."

And at his father's decisive sentence, Severus stands, and turns, and heads back into his bedroom.

* * *

That night, there's a fumbling at the door, which gives Severus just enough time to pull his t-shirt back on.  Then, the door swings open, and his dad stands in the doorway, his hands stuffed in his pockets.  

"All right, lad?"

"All right."  Severus doesn't look up from his position on the bed, lying on his front and flicking through an old textbook that's resting on his pillow.

"What yer readin'?"

Severus turns back to the front cover.  "1001 Bases," he reads aloud.  When his dad looks none the wiser, he elaborates.  "Every potion has a base.  Think of it like cooking gravy or something - you always put in water and flour, but-"

"Yer mam does all the cookin'," Tobias interrupts, a little awkwardly.  

"Right."

"Yer like it though?  This magical brewin'?"

"Yeah."

"Yer mam said yer had some trouble."

"...oh?"

"Wi' yer brewin' man?"

 _Oh_.  "Master Borage?"  Severus nods.  "Yeah, I left him.  Working for another wizard now, Master Jigger."

"Right.  Is he better, then?"

Severus screws his nose up.  "In some ways.  He's a bit more laidback."

"Laidback enough that he don't mind yer takin' three weeks off to scrike over a girl?"

There's a very long silence, and then eventually, Severus speaks.  "Come up here for something, did you?"

"...yer mam thinks-"

"I'm not in any trouble."

"Right," says Tobias, looking unconvinced.  "I ain't bothered 'bout yer bein' 'ere, lad…"  There's another long pause.  "But yer flat, like?"

"What about the flat?"

"If yer not workin'-"

"I'm on holiday!"

"...is she payin' the rent man, then?  Don't want yer losin' yer little place coz of an argument y'see."  

He freezes.   _The rent_.  "There's no man," he says, quietly.  "It comes out of an account."

"An' yer got enough, 'ave yer?  In this account?"

Severus gives a stiff nod.  

"Good.  Just checkin'."

* * *

He knows it'll work, Muggle post.  He remembers Petunia's letter to Dumbledore, and he's not ready to go back.  He doesn't want to be seen by anyone else, doesn't want to have the conversation with any of them - not Jigger, not Avery, and most certainly not Lily.  He uses a chained pen in the Post Office, and scrawls Malfoy's address - _URGENT_ \- he writes, across the top of the envelope, and then he licks the back, and affixes the stamp, and shoves it in the bright red box.

It's been three weeks now, and he still doesn't know if he's going back - but there's things in that flat; his books, and his clothes, and his hidden wall of potions.  Not to mention Lily.  He knows his mam's right about the blood laws - if she can't get access to his account to top it up, and the rent isn't paid, she'll have nowhere else to go.  

He wonders how she'll top up the account to pay the rent.   _Potter_.  And then he wonders where she'll go if she was evicted.   _Potter's_.  So then he stuffs his fists in his jacket and stalks across the playing fields, kicking clods of grass up from the football pitch.  The only time he looks up is when a ball lands near his feet.

"Kick it back, eh?" comes the yell, and he taps it with the outside of his foot, positioning it, and then strikes it hard with his instep, sending it sailing over to the group of kids playing on the far side of the field.  

"Cheers mate!" one calls, as they resume their frantic game.  

He watches for a moment, seeing them run around.   _It all seemed easy back then_.

* * *

It's almost a routine now, washing up after lunch.  

"Mam…"

"What?"

"How do you know?"

She doesn't answer; it's not really a question, and he's been so skittish since his unexpected return, the wrong word could send him stomping back up the stairs, not to be seen for a day or three.  

"...if it's worth fighting for?"  He breathes in unsteadily.  "How do you know that someone's with you for the right reasons?"

She hesitates, carefully wiping over the worktop whilst she thinks.  "And what would you consider the right reasons?"

"What if she's only with me because of the laws?"

Eileen gives him a curious look.  "There's better catches than you."

"Thanks, Mam."

She dips her hand into the water, and entwines her fingers with her son's.  "I meant blood.  If she's with you because of blood, why choose a Halfblood with a Muggle father?"

"I guess."  

"...or are you telling me that all of the Purebloods are suddenly sight impaired?"

"No."

"Well then."  She taps his hand, and pulls hers out, drying it on the tea towel.  "She must see something else in you, or she'd be with one of those.  A Black or an Avery or-"

 _A Potter_ , he thinks.  "Right," he says, and turns his attention back to the pan, scrubbing furiously at the congealed oats.

* * *

It's not a small town, Cokeworth.  It's not the sort of place where everyone knows everyone else, but there are spots of it - the same locals in the same pub, the same locals in the same betting shop, the same locals buying their eggs at the indoor market, so it's no real surprise when word gets around.  

Danny Slater tells his brother Trevor, and he tells their mother over tea, who leans over the fence when bringing in the washing and mentions it to Mildred Jones.  Mildred always goes to the library on a Thursday, so she whispers it to Edie Grant - and Edie always was ever so fond of the skinny lad, with his nose forever stuck in a book, and his vivacious friend, both of them so clever, the pair doing so well to get those scholarships to that Scottish school - so when Rose goes in to pick up a new paperback, Edie asks her when Lily and Severus moved back to Cokeworth.  

With a promise ringing in her ears that she'll get the kids to drop in and say hello before the week is out, Rose makes her excuses and flees for the Post Office, mirroring Severus' own actions a day or two before.   _He's here, Lily_ , she writes.   _In Cokeworth_.

* * *

It's awkward.  It's early, granted - barely past 7 when she knocks at the door because she came as soon as she got her mother's letter - but it's awkward all the same.  Tobias answers, stubbly and bleary-eyed, and when he leads her through to the kitchen and she sees Eileen's look of surprise, she's glad that he was the one who answered - because she suddenly isn't convinced that Eileen would've invited her in.  

One firm glance from Eileen across the table, and Lily suddenly knows why the house looked so empty when she passed by all those weeks ago - _he was here all along_ \- although she isn't sure if the charm was Severus' own, or one of Eileen's.  Didn't he want to see her?  Or was Eileen protecting her son?

There's a mug placed before her, filled with too strong tea, and Eileen makes the dreaded offer of a cigarette.  She politely declines, and watches as the older witch makes porridge, tipping out a bowl for both herself and Tobias.

"Sev not hungry?"

Tobias chews his first mouthful, and then points his spoon at the ceiling.  "He ain't gonna be seen afore ten, lazy little shite."

"Toby!"  Eileen hisses.  She gives Lily a short smile.  "He's tired."

"I'm fuckin' tired," Tobias grumbles.  "Ain't see me in bed-"

"He works very long hours, you know," Lily interrupts, slightly defensively.  "With his apprenticeship, and he's got a job at a bar at night."

Tobias eyes her.  "Paid the rent, 'ave yer?"

"Sorry?"

"Wi' soft lad bein' 'ere," he says, now pointing his spoon at her.  "Yer paid the rent?"

"Yes."

"Good."  He stands, abruptly, and puts his empty bowl in the sink.  "I'll go and see Arnold," he says, kissing his wife on her forehead, and then he's gone.

* * *

She sits silently, watching as Eileen bustles around the living room, neatening cushions and tidying the newspapers.  She's always felt out of place on this side of the river, and she wonders if they felt the same when they came to visit her parents all those years ago.  She watches as Eileen checks the coal bucket, and straightens the poker, and wonders how naturally these Muggle things come to a Pureblood witch; try as she might, she can't imagine any of the Purebloods she met at school settling in Spinner's End, content to tidy around after a husband, drinking dark tea, and smoking bitter cigarettes.  

She wants to ask Eileen if she felt pushed out of the Muggle world in the same way she feels pushed out of wizarding society.  She wants to ask if the prejudice has always been the same, and if it goes both ways, and what made her leave in the first place.  But they've never had that sort of relationship, not in all the years that Lily has been coming over.  A brew, and the offer - always declined - of a cigarette, that was the extent of their communication.  If Severus could be a man of few words, Eileen was an Olympic Champion.

"He's put a charm on the door," Eileen finally says, breaking the silence.  She mimes opening a door, suggesting the handle moving from one side to the other.

"Oh."

"If you're going up?"

"I'd like to."

"The charm gives him a minute before his dad bursts in on him.  He's not big on privacy, Toby.  But Severus won't mind you."

She isn't quite sure that's true, not at the moment, but she heads upstairs all the same.  When she reaches his bedroom door, she casts, and Eileen's right - there's a tremor of magic floating around the handle, and she wonders how Eileen knew.  She wonders if Eileen could feel it, as if she's in tune with her son's magic, or if it's something Severus did a lot as a teenager, or if she fell for it the first time - just like Tobias.

With the charm gone, she opens the door smoothly, and he doesn't have time to cover himself, and she's horrified as she realises why Eileen tipped her off.  Severus glares at her, his face filled with conflicting emotions - angry, and embarrassed, and shamed, and frustrated - and his hands grab at the sheets, but before he can speak, she's on the bed with him, her arms around his neck and holding him tightly against her.  She feels his chest heave, as if he's crying - or, more likely, trying not to.

"Oh, Sev," and she holds him even more tightly, whispering her words into his ear.  "Who has done this to you, love?"


	25. Only you

He doesn't speak - he slowly unwinds her arms from around his neck, and then frames her face with his hands, his thumbs slowly stroking across her skin.  He stares at her, and his black eyes are warmer now - they're not the fierce cold that she kept playing over and over in her mind - and his gaze darts over her face, as if he's mapping it and committing it to his memory.  Hesitantly, cautiously, he moves forward, his lips softly touching hers, and she instantly responds - a happy sigh escaping her mouth - and she can feel his lips twisting into a smile at her reaction.

Her response spurs him on, and his hands still framing her face, he kisses her more and more firmly, his lips pushing and pressing against hers, and then his tongue swipes across the seam of her lips.  She immediately parts them, and then meets his passion with equal heat.  He slides his hands down, and then tips her beneath him on his bed, straddling her waist and trapping her below him.

She smiles at him as he bends back down, his lips meeting hers once more, and she strokes his front softly, her fingers tracing his skin and sliding gently through his sparse chest hair.  It's only been a few weeks since she last touched him this way, but it feels as if more has grown in her absence - and she's aware that even now, despite them both being classed as adults, his body is still changing as he transforms from a scrawny teenager into a man.  His breath catches as she toys with his nipples, and he grabs her wrists, pinning them above her head, and then - wrists still held firmly away from his body - he kisses her again.  She can feel his cock hardening as he shifts position, and she grinds up against him, encouraging him to continue.  With her wrists still held in one hand, he starts to unbutton her blouse, and then kisses his way down her body, caressing her skin as it's exposed to him.

"Sev," she groans, as his lips trail across her stomach.  He releases her wrists, and helps her to remove her top, followed by her bra, and then he continues his quest to kiss every inch of her body.  His movements are leisurely, and she's careful with her hands as she touches him in response, desperate not to hurt him.  Her hands reach his pants, and he grabs her wrist again, moving it away.  Instead, he undoes her jeans, and she lifts her hips, helping him to slide them off her and they land with a soft thud when he throws them across the room.  He gazes at her, his eyes tracing a heated path back up to her face, and then kisses her again.  

She tangles her left leg around his, and he braces his arms on either side of her.  Not wanting to reach around him, she places her hands on his biceps, and then rests them on his collarbone, conscious of the terrible marks on his back.  When she reaches up to taste him again, he's the one who groans, and he grinds his pelvis firmly against her, and then she moans with him.

* * *

"For Chrissakes," Tobias complains, slatting his newspaper on the ground.  He gets up, stamps across the room and twists the dial on the television firmly until the presenter is practically screaming the news into their living room.  Eileen looks at him uncomfortably, as if she's waiting for him to head up the stairs and throw a fit at their son, but Tobias simply looks agitated.  He picks the newspaper back up and shakes it, and talks to her from behind it.  "Three fuckin' hours they've been at it, an' the only reason I'm puttin' up wi' this," he says, huffily, "is because there's a high chance he'll fuck off back 'ome after."

Eileen smiles tightly, pleased that he's not going to disrupt his son's chances of reconciliation - but then there's yet another loud thud, followed by another, and a squeal, and just as Tobias is about to throw his paper down in another fit, a rhythmic whine fills the room, as if Severus' old bed is protesting the actions of its occupants.

"Arrogant little fucker," Tobias spits, standing up.  "C'mon, Leen. I'm not listenin' to Romeo upstairs all afternoon."

"But-"

"Get your coat.  We're goin' out."

* * *

He lies on his side, careful not to tip over onto his back, and she nestles into his front, their bodies warm together.  He pulls the covers over her, and he closes his eyes, his cheek resting against the top of her head.

"I've missed you so much," she says, breathing his scent in deeply.  

"Yeah?"

"...it was like the world was a little bit darker without you," she says, softly, and he wraps his arms more tightly around her, his fingers stroking up and down her arms.

"Like someone turned the lights out."

"Yeah."  She pauses.  "You too?"

"Mmm."

"We probably need to talk," she says, cautiously, holding him tightly to her, lest he try and bolt.  

"Mmm."

"I know you're not a big talker…"

"Mmm."

"Sev," she laughs, tipping her head up to kiss him, before pulling back again.  "I'm serious."

"I know."  And then he strokes her hair, and breathes in deeply.  "But let's just lie here for a while, and forget the world, hey?"

* * *

"Thanks," he says, standing in the doorway, with his bag clutched by his side.

"The door is always open," Eileen says.  "You remember that."

He nods.  "I will."  And then he puts his arm around the living room door.  "See you, Da."

"Bye lad," Tobias shouts, not putting his newspaper down.

Lily watches from the front step; the lack of affection in the house is in such contrast to her own family, and she wonders if she smothers him when she constantly embraces him, or whether he's so desperate to be touched, he craves it.  But before she can mull on it further, Eileen's called him back, and she can just hear the end of their hushed conversation.

"-whatever's going on right now, things will change.  They always change."  Eileen steps towards him, and squeezes his wrist.  "You look after her, Severus."

"I will, Mam."  And then he turns and strides towards Lily.  "Shall we head back then?"

* * *

He looks anxious as he stands at the front door, appraising the flat.  She wonders if he's remembering it from the night when he left, with their belongings scattered all over the floor.  She's tidied up since - finally - and even used magic to remove the dent from the wall where he broke the ornament.  The ornament itself is long past repair - least, she felt it was, and she decided that even if it could've been mended, she would only have looked at it and remembered their break up, so she put it in the bin.  She didn't want a reminder.

He puts his bag down, and moves slowly through the flat, his fingers tapping against surfaces, and then he draws a long breath before entering their bedroom.  He stands at the doorway, not entering, and in the end, she goes to stand next to him, slipping her small hand into his.

"You okay?"

"Yeah."

"Glad to be back?"

"...yeah."

She looks at him curiously, and his black eyes are darting around the room.  "What is it?"

He doesn't answer immediately, but then he pulls the door shut, and moves them back to the living room.  "You hungry?"

"A little."

"Right," he says, decisively.  "We'll get some food, and after…"  He looks so pained, she's terrified at what he's going to blurt out, but all he says is, "...we'd better have that talk, hadn't we?"

* * *

In the end, neither of them eat much - there's boxes of takeaway strewn across the table, but he's probably only eaten a few mouthfuls of rice, and a single swirl of noodles around his fork.  There's a stone in the depths of his stomach, and he walks into the kitchen, hunting in the cupboard for his firewhisky.  He finds a fresh bottle, and two glasses, and carries them back into the front room.

"I don't want-"

"I do," he says, firmly.  He ignores her surprised look, and pours a slim measure, which he quickly knocks back.  "I… I don't think I can do this without a bit of extra courage," he explains, and pours a proper measure into the glass to sip from.  He then pours a second, and passes the glass to her, capping the bottle and putting it on the table.  "You don't have to drink it," he says, his voice even.  "It just might...help you with the honesty."

"You don't trust me to be honest?"

He laughs - actually laughs - and sips from the glass, rolling the taste on his tongue.  "This is why we get in such a mess, isn't it?"  He waves his hand.  "It's fine when we're being…"

"Intimate?"

"I was going to say affectionate, but yeah.  Then as soon as we start talking…"

"It all goes wrong?"

"Yeah.  I say something, and you snap at me, and you say something, and I snap at you…"  He looks at her sadly.  "When did we stop understanding each other?"

"I don't know."

"You were always the person who understood me," he says, looking fixedly at the floor ahead of him.  "Nobody else even wanted to get to know me-"

"Malfoy did."

"Malf's…  Lucius Malfoy is a law to himself," Severus finally says.  "He's the exception that proves the rule."  He gives a small smile.  "I remember you at school.  Everyone loved you.  I think that's why people forgave me, you know?"

"Forgave you for what?"

He points at himself.  "Look at me, Lily."  And he turns to her, his face thin, all angular lines, and dark eyes.  "Greasy weird poor boy.  Nobody in their right mind would give me the time of day-"

"Severus, don't talk like-"

"I thought we were being honest with each other?" he says, hotly.  "Well, I'm being honest!  I didn't get a hard time then, because everyone loved you, and if Severus Snape fell in love with you too, well, it was no surprise.  Why would I be immune to your charms, when all of the lads felt the same?  It wasn't my fault."  He toys with his glass.  "But nobody expected you to love _me_ back.  I never stopped loving you, and…"

"I've always loved you too," she admits, softly.

At this, his face pales slightly, and he looks at her - confusion etched on his face - and then back at the floor, and then back at her again.  "...if I ask you something, will you be completely honest with me?"

"Yes."

"Will you swear it?"  She nods and takes out her wand, and he quickly shakes his head, grabbing her hands.  "Your word is enough," he says.

"Yes then."

"...did it feel different?"

She looks at him, this time she's the one who's confused.  "I don't understand."

He bites his lip, and then tries again, although the topic is clearly upsetting him.  "When we had sex, this afternoon."

"Different?  Different in what way?"  She tilts her head, trying to catch his eye, but he's steadfastly looking away from her.

"Different since you slept with Potter."

"Severus," she says, firmly, grabbing his hands, and pulling them until he finally looks up at her - his eyes miserable, and his expression a little fearful.  "Since we started dating, I have never even kissed another person.  I certainly haven't had sex with anyone else," and she reaches out now, her hand holding his face, her thumb gently swiping at the tear that's sitting at the edge of his eye, "and I wouldn't dream of letting Potter touch me that way."  Her lip wobbles slightly, as she sees the relief in his face.  "I can't believe you thought…"  She swallows hard, "...and yet you took me back today, thinking that I'd…"

"You were the one who said it - the world was dark without you, Lil," he mutters, pulling her into his arms.  "I thought… I thought if this thing with Potter was over, I could…"  She can feel him shaking his head above her, his long hair grazing her skin, "...but when we were…"  He trails off, pauses - collecting himself - and then tries again.  "All I could think about was him touching you, imagining you making the same noises with him - or worse, making different noises with him, _better_ noises because-"

"I've only ever slept with you," she says, firmly.

"...and I thought it was goodbye," he says, finally.  "I thought this might've been goodbye."  She looks stricken at his confession.  "And that's why I had to ask," he says, "before we talked about anything else.  Because I thought I could get past it - get over it, if you'd got him out of your system."  And then he looks at her, and his expression makes her breath catch in her throat.  "But I couldn't, Lily.  I couldn't get past it.  The thought of anyone else touching you...the thought of _Potter_ -"

"Stop it now," she says, firmly, twisting in his embrace to kiss him, "because it didn't happen."  She kisses him tenderly, and he kisses her back, and then she tells him outright, so there can be no misunderstanding between them.  "Only you, Sev.  There's only ever been you."


	26. Swing and a miss

"Do you think this is part of the problem?" she asks, breathlessly, as she picks her clothes up off the floor.  

"Leave them off," he says, playfully, gently knocking them out of her hand.

"I'm serious," she says, but she stops what she's doing, and permits him to pull her back down onto the sofa, letting him stroke his fingers through her hair.  "We never tell each other anything because we're too busy having sex."

"As hobbies go, I prefer sex to talking."

"I had noticed."  She kisses the tip of his nose.  "But we should try and straighten some of this out, shouldn't we?"

"Yeah," he sighs, reluctance written all over his face.  "So, what do you think we need to talk about?"

She thinks for a long moment.  "I'll ask you something, and you tell me the truth - and then you ask me something, and I'll tell you the truth."  She nods decisively.  "I think that's the best way."

"Okay.  Shoot."

"Who hurt you?"

"Don't know," he says - and at her look of disbelief, he laughs.  "I'm serious, Lil!  I know it sounds fucking stupid-"

"You're right, you do sound fucking stupid," she says, her voice a little cold.  "I thought we _just_ agreed-"

"I swear on my life, I've never seen him before."

"And yet you let him slice up your back?"  She pulls at his shoulder, getting him to roll off his side and onto his front so she can inspect the damage.  "...can I?"

"Be gentle," he says, gruffly, and her fingers lightly trace the welts on his back.

"It looks like-"

"-when my da used to beat shit out of me?"

"Yeah."

"It's because it is," he says, his voice muffled slightly by the cushions of the sofa.

"I've got something," she says, and she's gone for a long minute - there's a rustling in the bathroom, and then she's back, cosmetic bag in hand.

"You're not putting make-up on me," he protests, but she's straddled the back of his thighs, and she holds him down.  

"Just some Vaseline," she says.  "Tell me if it hurts."

He tenses, and she expects him to yell out, but her touch is feather light and he whimpers in relief as the cool gel makes contact with his raw skin.  

"Better?"

"...yeah."

She gently massages the jelly into his back, and then, her voice calm, she asks again.  "So what happened?"

"It was a punishment," he says - and she wants to interject.  They're forever finishing each other's sentences, and she forces herself to keep quiet - again, reasoning that it's half of their problem; he's too quick to assume what she's going to say, and she's too quick to jump to the wrong conclusions - so she bites her lip, and keeps stroking his skin in soothing circles.  "I've been brewing some...bespoke potions.  For a friend of a friend of a friend," he says.  "And I made a mistake."  He clucks his tongue against his teeth.  "A really _stupid_ mistake.  And the friend of a friend of a friend...well, he got hold of me."

"...and beat you?  What sort of a person - what sort of a friend - would do such a thing?"

The only thing that stops her from changing the subject is the feeling of his breathing beneath her - it's shallow and unsteady, and she knows he's wrangling with something, and if she leaves the question hanging, eventually he'll answer.

"I think…  I think he might've been You-Know-Who."

Her hands still.  "You've been brewing for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

"No," he says, firmly.  "I was brewing for a friend who was passing them to a friend, who was-"

"-but the chain ended with-"

"-I don't know for certain," he interrupts, "but he was powerful, and he controlled everyone, and he wanted to be called... _Lord_."

"You were brewing for the Dark Lord."  Lily moves off Severus, and grabs a tissue, wiping her hands clean of Vaseline.

He rolls to one side, propping himself on his elbow to watch her, concerned that she's left his side following his revelation.  "Lil, I really didn't know."

She gives him a tight smile, and points at his back.  "He was friendly then?"

He looks grateful at her weak attempt at humour.  "Fucking horrifying, Lil."

"And that was you being taken sick, was it?"  

"Yeah."

She scrunches the tissue and puts it in the bin, before returning to sit with him on the sofa.  "I thought the rumour was he favoured Unforgivables?"

"You'd rather I'd been AK'd?" he asks, cheekily.  "Or do you think I've been Imperio'd?"

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah."

"...it's weird," she says.  "That the marks look like when your dad-"

"It's not weird," he interrupts, quickly.  "It's deliberate.  He can...read minds, or something."

She looks staggered.  "I've never heard of that."

"Me neither."

"...so he recreated-"

"Yeah."

She exhales loudly, and holds her boyfriend tightly in her arms.  "You need to keep away from all of that."

"It's probably not that easy," he says, bluntly, reaching for his glass of firewhisky which had been long forgotten on the table.  "Anyway.  Enough of that.  My turn, surely?"

She nods.  "Do your worst."

"...Potter."

"What about him?"

"Well," he starts, his hands flailing a little, "everything, really!  The last I remember you having any real contact with Potter is around the time you hexed him by the lake back in fifth year-"  

She smiles broadly at the memory, and he has to bite back a laugh.  

"Exactly," he says.  "So how did we get from him being on the wrong end of your wand to him being in our flat like he's some long lost friend?"

"You're not going to like this," she warns.

"On a scale of one to ten," he says, "with 'working for the Dark Lord without realising it' being a ten, how much am I not going to like it?"

"It's probably an eleven."

His easy smile drops.  "Fuck's sake, Lily, I was-"

"-I've been working for Dumbledore's Order."

"Well," he says, putting his hands over his eyes, "that is definitely not what I expected you to say."

"That's how I met Potter."

"And that auror you brought here?"

She nods.  "Amelia Bones."

"That was Madam Bones?"  He looks astonished.  "Amelia, of course, fucking hell - it's so obvious now."

"It's obvious now," she says, "because you were absolutely smashed out of your mind when she visited-"

"-I know."  He looks a little abashed.  "Made a good show of myself to her, eh?"  He gives her a curious look.  "...the listening devices…"

She stills, guessing where his question is going.  "Yes?"

"You know," he said, softly, "I had a contact in the auror office."

"Who?"

"Friend of a friend."

"I didn't know You-Know-Who was moonlighting for the aurors-"

"-funny," he says, not without humour.  "Point is, we'd arranged for them to be disposed of.  ...but you got Bones here, and she did it instead."

"Yes."

He leans back, the puzzlement still across his features.  "What did you have to give her to get them removed?"

"I promised I'd help her get some information."

He nods.  "And?  Did you?"

"Not yet."  

His eyelids flutter slightly.  "Great, so you owe her, and I owe the Dark Lord."

"What a pair we are," she says.

"You're telling me," he laughs.  "This honesty lark has been ridiculous.  One question each, and we've found out that you're in deep with Dumbledore's vigilante gang, and I'm being dragged into You-Know-Who's regime."  He gives her an amused look.  "It's your turn, but I'm not sure my heart can take a second question."

"There's one more thing," she says, quickly.  "I think we have more to talk about still, but…"

He looks at her curiously, and she can almost see the words written on his face - _not Potter not Potter not Potter_.  She takes a deep breath.  "It's about the rent on this place."

"Oh!  Don't worry about that.  I sorted it," he says, that crooked smile crossing his features.  "I made sure there was enough money in the account before it was due-"

"Yes, but when I checked the balance a few days before," she says, quietly, "we were short.  And I couldn't make a deposit."

He jumps up and grabs his wallet from the side, pulling out his access card, casting at it.  The balance flashes up, and he pales at the high figure - and then he casts again, the recent transactions showing up before him.

"Lucius Malfoy?  That's how you sorted it?"  Her eyes narrow.  "I should've guessed before," she says, "when he brought you here when you were hurt.  That's your contact, isn't it?  Who you brewed the Dark Lord's potions for?"

"Astutely reasoned," he says, nodding stiffly.  "But Lily, I'm afraid I don't quite understand.  I accept that you're part of the Order.  I accept that James Potter has somewhat _befriended_ you," he says, although the words sound as if they're trapped in his throat, "and I accept that you've had dealings with Amelia Bones.  ...but how on earth did you convince Sirius Black to transfer this amount of galleons to _my_ account?"

* * *

"No Evans?" Moody asks, pointing at the empty chair.  "Not invited?"

Diggle looks up.  "She's invited, but I couldn't get a response from her."

Potter looks alert.  "Been to the flat?"

"Yes," Diggle says, dismissively.  "But these things happen. We're all busy adults."

Black leans over, whispering in Potter's ear.  "She's not, though.  A Muggleborn practically locked indoors - where's she gone?"

"Snape," Potter whispers back.  "That's where she'll have gone."

"I thought she'd deliver the potion tonight?"  Black glances at Lupin, who is chatting to the Prewett boys, "I thought if he took it earlier…"  He looks back at Potter.  "If Snivellus is back on the scene, do you think she'll even brew it - or do you think she's taken our money and run?"

"...I don't know," Potter says.  "If it was just her, then yes, but if Snape's back-" and then he suddenly quietens, as Moody calls the meeting to order.  

* * *

His hands shake as he stares at the parchment.  "Belby's _Wolfsbane_?  Lil, do you know how much money you could make if-"

"You saw how much money Sirius Black was willing to give me," she says, simply.

"It's not even the start," he says.  "There's entire packs of them.  You could do anything with this on the black market-"

"Help them keep their humanity," she says.

"Yeah, well, there's that," he says.  "But there are other groups, who'd use this to control them…"  He gapes, his finger trailing over the method.  "Bloody hell, that's brilliant.  Belby's an absolute genius."  He looks back at Lily.  "So, where were you going to brew it?"  And then, at her abashed look, the truth dawns on him, and he grips her shoulders.  "Lily?  Where _have_ you brewed it?"

* * *

At the end of the meeting, Pettigrew and Lupin step over to them, but Potter makes his excuses, and heads for Bones and Vance.  

"He's got no chance with either of them," Pettigrew laughs.

"I don't think he's asking them for a date," Lupin says, rolling his eyes.  "Don't you think about anything else?"

"I don't," drawls Black, trying to watch Potter's conversation unfold, and then giving it up as a bad job.  "Here, Wormtail, go and listen in, will you?"

"Do you really think he's asking them out?" Pettigrew asks, eagerly.  "Amelia, or Emmeline?"

"I don't know, that's why I've told you to go and find out," Black says, waving him away.  As Pettigrew moves awkwardly across the room, Black turns to Lupin.  "And how are you, Moons?"

"Yeah, pretty good," he says, with a smile, and then he lowers his voice.  "I can't thank you and Prongs enough.  Tastes bloody awful, but-"

Black sits up dramatically.  "She got it to you?" he hisses.

"Yeah.  She met with me a few days ago in Muggle London."  He grins.  "I've never looked forward to a transformation, but I'm quite excited…" - but Black has stopped listening, his attention now on Potter who is being hurried to a corner by the two older women, far away from the eavesdropping ears of Pettigrew.

* * *

"Well _fuck_ ," he says, glancing at his girlfriend.

"Sorry."

"Yeah, I'm not sure sorry covers it, Lil," he laughs.  "This is absolutely insane."  He shakes his head.  "We're living in this crazy society, where you've got fewer rights than a bumblebee-"

"-wow, thanks-"

"-and yet you've brewed one of the most complicated potions ever created, in complete secrecy, and you've not done it in a lab - you've done it in your childhood bedroom out in the Muggle world."  He laughs out loud.

"I don't know it works yet."

"I bet it does," he says.  "You're meticulous; you'll have followed this to the letter," and he waves the parchment.  "When's full moon?"

"Next week."

"We'll find out then, won't we?"  He looks at her.  "Will Black report back, or-"

"-I don't know," she says.  "I don't know much past the initial request."  She looks at him seriously.  "I wasn't going to do it, you know - after the dealing fiasco.  But when I thought we'd lose the flat, and I didn't know where you were…"  She swallows hard.  "And I'm guessing you've heard about the owl laws?"

He looks wary.  "No," he says, "but I feel that I don't particularly want to know."

"I'd have used an owl to track you down," she says, "but now Muggleborns can't use them to send messages.  They have to be-"

"-countersigned by someone of a higher blood status?"

"Correct."

He shakes his head.  "What a mess, Lil.  And you're a finer witch than most of the Purebloods," he tells her, giving her an admiring look.

"You're biased."

"Not just me.  You know, Borage, Jigger and old Sluggy would have a fit if they knew.  Well, Borage and Jigger would have a grumble about blood status and improper brewing conditions, but Sluggy would be dead proud - and he'd be right to be."

"You think?"  

"Yes!  And I'm dead fucking proud too."

She gives him a huge grin.  "Really?"

"Yes!  Really!"  He puts his arms around her and kisses her forehead.  "I mean, you're going to get us both fucking killed, but I am super impressed at your brewing."

"Sev!  I'm being serious."

"So am I, love," he says, holding her tightly.  "So am I."

* * *

When the aurors descend on Malfoy Manor, the young occupant isn't in the least bit surprised, and he welcomes them in - his manners impeccable - to his study.  They take his wand, and place it on the desk before him.

"Am I under arrest?" he asks, mildly.

"Not arrest," Emmeline Vance says, coolly.  "Not yet."

"But there's always time," Amelia Bones adds.

His eyebrows quirk.  "Wonderful."  He places his hands on the desk.  "Would you mind enlightening me as to the enquiry you feel I am able to assist with?"

"I have reason to believe that you're dealing in banned potions," Vance says.

"No rights?"

Bones glances at Vance.  "You're only read your rights if you're arrested."

"Interesting."  Lucius taps his mouth with his fingertip.  "And if I choose not to speak now?  Am I immediately classed as unhelpful, and then I shall be arrested?  And if I do speak, will my words be used in a future case against me?"

Vance looks at Bones, and Bones looks back at Vance - and Lucius leans back in his chair, watching the two carefully.  

"Or, perhaps we could arrange some sort of a deal?" he ventures.  "An off the record deal," he says, with a smile, "you understand."

"What are you offering?"

"...I want to offer you the name of my brewer."

"We know who your brewer is, thank you.  We're looking up the chain, not down."

And Lucius smiles broadly.  "And I am fairly certain that you're wrong."  He watches, amused, as the two women look at each other.  "And if you're wrong about the lower rungs of the chain, then perhaps you're looking in the wrong places upwards as well?"

"Excuse us for a moment," Bones says, pulling Vance to a corner of the room. 

Lucius can hear them muttering between themselves, but he can't quite hear what they're saying - and quickly tiring of the wait, he raises his voice.  "Tell you what," he says, beckoning them back, "I suggest you write the name of who you think my brewer is on a slip of parchment."

Vance looks at him curiously.  "And what will that prove?"

"I shall do the same," he says.  "Only I shall provide the name of the person who has genuinely brewed my wares.  And then we can compare the two names."

Bones and Vance stare at each other again, and then Bones nods.  "Very well.  Do you have a quill?"

"But of course," says Lucius, passing a golden feather to her.  "Only the best for the finest aurors in the land."

They both turn, and Vance writes on the parchment before folding it sharply, running her fingers along the crease over and over.  He mirrors her actions, and then the two place the pages on the desk.

"Thank you," he says.  "Would you like to do the honours?"

Bones casts, flicking the parchments open, and Lucius smiles broadly when their page opens:   _Severus Snape._

"I see" he says, with relish, "but it's a swing and a miss, I'm afraid."  

But his words seem to be lost on the pair, as Vance and Bones are both staring at Lucius' handwriting in horror:   _Lily Evans_.


	27. Gryffindor or a Slytherin

Vance stares evenly at Bones from across her office. "Amelia, I'm afraid to say we're at a stalemate."

"I can't stand by and watch you arrest her on the word of Lucius Malfoy," Bones says simply. "I think this is a ruse."

"And I think you're blinded by compassion," Vance warns. "You got too close to her, and fell for her sob story."

"I fell for her sob story? It's not a sob story!" Bones looks astonished. "Our society has pushed her kind-"

"Nonsense. Our society is full of loopholes," Vance interrupts, dismissively, "and she's in a position to have taken full advantage of each and every one. She's hooked up with a Halfblood-"

"-not an informed one!"

"No? Is he not?" The disdain drips from Vance's voice.

Bones shakes her head. "He'd have sponsored her if he knew."

"Snape is an associate of Lucius Malfoy's-"

"-we don't really know that-"

"-I _do_ know that!" Vance quickly counters. "I've had an auror trailing Horace Slughorn-"

"Emmeline!" Bones hisses, her hand slamming against her desk. "There are laws about surveillance without-"

"And we both know that laws don't get results! What do you suggest we do, hmm?" Vance stalks angrily around the room, her ruby robes flowing behind her. "Wait and see if Lucius Malfoy politely invites us for dinner with his closest business associates?" When Bones doesn't answer, Vance nods with an air of triumph. "And Snape is a slippery eel - mark my words, Amelia."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Vance stops pacing, leaning heavily against the back of a chair. "I believe Malfoy's testimony - that Lily Evans is his brewer." She points her finger towards Bones. "You don't believe Malfoy's testimony - you stand by our original assertion that Severus Snape is his brewer. Correct?" 

Bones nods, and Vance smiles. 

"Then he's hardly an innocent lamb, is he - by your very own admission?"

"I'm not suggesting that he is," Bones argues. "But I don't see how this fits together for you to agree that Lily Evans is Lucius Malfoy's brewer. It's a ruse!"

Vance pinches the bridge of her nose, and takes a deep breath, as if she's about to explain a simple arithmancy equation to a NEWT student. "Lily Evans was working for the Ministry. A law was passed meaning that Muggleborns could not continue to work unless they were sponsored. Lily Evans claims that she has no such sponsor, despite being in a committed relationship with a Halfblood with Pure heritage-"

"-a Halfblood who didn't understand the law!"

"A Halfblood who is a close associate of one of the wealthiest and most influential Pureblood families in the land," Vance loudly corrects. "This is a simple case of us looking left whilst the real culprit-"

"You're saying that I'm distracted by Snape?" Bones interrupts, her brow still furrowed. "I'm focused on following him, when she's the real brewer?"

"He's perfect as a decoy. He's a potions apprentice," Vance explains, "and a disgraced one at that. He's known to us as a small time dealer-"

"-Mundungus Fletcher's statement is hardly admissible evidence, Emmeline, as you well know."

"I'm not looking to build a concrete case against Snape," Vance argues. "I couldn't care less about Snape. I'm trying to build the picture, and Dung's statement is part of that. Snape is a small time crook, dealing in simple party potions to simple people."

"And what does that prove, in this grand picture that you're painting?"

Vance flicks her wand at the wall, clearing space and the casts a summary of her points as she speaks. "Snape apprentices with Master Arsenius Jigger. We know from the bug reports that he rises between half 7 and 8, and he's at work before 9."

"But we know they knew about the bugs - his routine could vary wildly from what we witnessed."

"Yes, yes, but we're talking about a youth who is barely out of his teens. Do you really think he's waking in the early hours?" Vance says, dismissing the point. "It's easy to verify when he starts work, and I doubt he'd usually get up earlier, even if the rest of his routine deviated from what we witnessed." She waves her wand. "But you're right - the rest of the information gathered in that exercise is dubious at best, but we know from other reports-"

"-other _inadmissible_ reports-"

"-that he works in the Three Broomsticks," says Vance, giving Bones a pointed look, "which is easily verified."

"You were going to say he deals in the Hog's Head," Bones says, huffily, "which _is_ inadmissible."

"Yes. But it still paints a picture, does it not? A young man who studies all day, works all evening, and deals into the night?"

"...I still don't follow where you're going with this."

"If he's spending all hours working, then he's not Malfoy's brewer." Vance smiles broadly. "But which other highly regarded magical person has suddenly found themselves without employment?" She looks triumphantly at Bones. "The clincher for me, was Potter's comment a few weeks back. Don't you recall the not so hushed conversation his group of miscreants were having at the meeting? You remember," she prompts when Bones looks blank, "when we were in that upstairs room of the Leaky?"

Bones shakes her head. "I barely listen to those boys. Arrogant and impertinent and-"

"-and _useful_ ," Vance smiles. "For they were in class with our two suspects, and whilst Snape's talent has been alluded to by many more than just Fletcher, I was completely unaware that Professor Horace Slughorn - or should I say, _Master_ Horace Slughorn - held Miss Evans in equal esteem."

"I've seen her student record," Bones says, quietly. "Her Potions NEWT was virtually flawless. Slughorn holds no blood prejudices, so he wouldn't penalise her." She appraises Vance. "But Malfoy? He just wouldn't hire a Muggleborn, he's a purist."

"Yes, but he's also an opportunist. Snape was probably his intended brewer," she says, triumphantly, the details suddenly falling into place, "but the change in the laws meant that as a couple, they didn't have enough money, so Snape had to undertake paid labour. That left him no time to brew, so she became Malfoy's only option."

"This still doesn't make sense," Bones challenges. "Why wouldn't Snape sponsor Lily, permit her to work, and then brew himself?"

"...because Lucius Malfoy is playing a long game," Vance says, thoughtfully. "And a Muggleborn as collateral damage early on is neither here nor there. Losing Snape at this stage would be far more dangerous, so perhaps you're right - Lucius Malfoy didn't inform Snape of his rights about sponsorship. Perhaps he was out of the loop all along."

Bones shakes her head. "I don't buy this. It's too convoluted to be comfortable." She fiddles with the edge of her robe. "And I wouldn't be misled by the way they behaved during the bugging of their flat," she says. "I don't know much of him, but from the way she reacted…there's a genuine affection between them. I don't think she'd hang him out to dry," and she meets Vance's gaze, "and I don't see him having a Muggleborn girlfriend all of these years with the sole intention to sell her out. She said herself that their relationship has made him an outcast."

Vance eyes her curiously. "Something else is bothering you. Tell me."

"...I can't make head nor tail of the sponsorship," Bones admits. "I can't see Evans being Malfoy's preferred brewer, even if Slughorn did think she was brilliant in her schooldays - why would he go to the trouble of recruiting a bonafide potions apprentice, and then not utilising him?"

Vance looks nonplussed. "Who knows?"

"No," Bones argues, "you were happy to use this information to paint a picture. You can't just throw away the parts of the palette that you don't like." She looks fierce. "Either Snape and Malfoy have a purely transactional relationship, and Snape gains his information about the wizarding world from elsewhere-"

"Like who?"

"His old Head of House?"

"Come on, Amelia. You said it yourself, Horace Slughorn holds no such prejudices, and if he's as fond as either of them as you're suggesting, then he wouldn't mislead them in such a manner."

"Then Master Jigger, perhaps?"

Vance shakes her head. "And why would Arsenius Jigger feed Snape incorrect information?"

"...to keep him out of trouble by ensuring he needed to work in a bar of an evening? To keep him busy? To prevent a similar situation from-"

"-happening as unfolded under Master Borage," Vance finishes, looking thoughtful once more. 

"Exactly." 

"But if the goods were for Malfoy, why wouldn't he intervene?"

"Perhaps he was going to," Bones says. "Perhaps you're right - perhaps Malfoy did conclude that Evans would be no loss if it all came tumbling out. What's a few years in Azkaban for a Muggleborn he doesn't care about? Surely that's a far better solution than potentially losing the young man who is going to be a fully qualified Potions Master in a few short years." 

The two women stare at the wall, entranced by their brainstorming of the situation.

Bones glances across at Vance. "Do you think we're on the right track?"

"I think there's only one way to find out."

* * *

Moody escorts her down to the interview room, her wrists tightly bound behind her. She stumbles as they turn down yet another bland corridor, but his reactions are sharp, grasping the back of her robes and helping her to keep her feet. "One foot in front of the other, Evans," he snarls.

"I know how to walk!"

"Then do it," he says, pushing open a set of doors and waving her through.

"You are a hateful man," she snaps, standing in the doorway and blocking him from passing her. "You oscillate between treating me as if I'm a Madonna or a whore." She's too angry to delight in his shocked expression, although he composes himself quickly.

"You could've been someone," Moody finally says, looking at her in disgust. "I saw your file. Ogden and Thicknesse wanted you transferred to us, such was your aptitude and prowess, and yet-"

"-yet what?" Her face is full of fury. "I had no choice in any of this."

"No choice?" He sounds incredulous. "You were the one who didn't bother to get sponsored."

"Didn't _bother_?" She breathes heavily, her hands quivering behind her back in rage. "Didn't bother? Even if I had someone willing to sign, I couldn't have transferred to your beloved department. I couldn't stay in the employment of the Ministry."

Moody looks momentarily thrown as he pieces it together. "You were purged?"

"Yes," she spits. " _Purged_."

"Because?"

She shrugs. "Your guess is as good as mine."

He roughly pushes past her, shoving open a door to a nearby room and pulling her in. He kicks a chair, and nods to it, and she tentatively sits - her balance slightly off due to how her wrists are immobilised. "They gave you a reason. They give everyone a reason."

"Undesirable political allegiances," she mutters.

He stands for a long moment, considering her words. "That's all?"

"That's all." She glances at him. "I don't know who they meant."

"Your man?"

"Aberforth thought so," she admits. "But I don't see how. You all said yourselves at the meeting - the Ministry is being infiltrated-"

Moody quickly reaches over and slams the door shut. "Bloody hell, Evans, you pick your moments!"

"-I just meant-"

"I understood what you meant," he says, taking the seat opposite her. "Under Death Eater rule, undesirable political allegiances wouldn't be your fence-sitting boyfriend." He grimaces. "Perhaps it was a push for him to finally declare some?"

She shrugs. "Maybe."

"And has he?"

She shrugs again. "We don't discuss politics."

He clucks his tongue in frustration and leans heavily on the desk. "I've brought you here, as Madam Vance is due to interview you."

"I am aware."

"This," and he indicates to himself and the room, "isn't the interview."

She raises an eyebrow at this, glancing at the interview room, and their respective seating positions. "No?"

"No," Moody says, "but I would like to speak with you further. Off the record."

"And what's in it for me?"

Moody smiles, sitting back in his seat. "I could suggest that's a very Slytherin observation to make." He pauses, waiting for her to rise to his bait, but she doesn't. "You protested that you were a Gryffindor when I met you."

"I was."

"And now?" He leans forward again. "If you were to be sorted now?" He peers at her intently. "What's stronger within you, Evans? Courage or cunning? Daring or shrewdness?" 

She doesn't answer, and he smiles triumphantly. 

"Want to know something, Evans?" he asks, although he doesn't wait for the answer. "I said to Albus that your snake of a boyfriend-" and he continues loudly when she opens her mouth to protest, "-was rubbing off on you. Can you imagine what he said?"

"No," she says, inviting his reply, although she isn't convinced she wants to know what Albus Dumbledore's appraisal of her was.

"He said that Horace Slughorn had long lamented that you were not housed in Slytherin. That if your bloodline had been different, you'd have been sat amongst his snakes."

"Sluggy's always said that. It's hardly a secret."

Moody nodded. "But most people told you he was wrong, didn't they? They saw how morally upstanding you were," and he lingers over the words, rolling them over his tongue, "and couldn't see a hint of ambition within you. And how right you proved them," he continues, "setting up home with a no-name wizard, and seemingly quitting your role at the Ministry, content to idle your days away at home."

Now, she doesn't dare react at all - he's hitting all of the points that have long haunted her; that in a world where a Muggleborn could be ambitious - and be justly rewarded for being so - she would've been a Slytherin. That Severus' early assessment of her when they were children was uncannily accurate, and wasn't just his childish desire to want his best friend sat next to him, in the house he felt he'd always been destined for. 

She'd _tried_ to embody the traits of Gryffindor - of chivalry and nerve, of standing up and saying the right thing at the right time - but she knew that she'd done so wrapped up in the skin of Slytherin shrewdness. She took calculated risks, and she knew that those who observed her closely - the Severuses and the Slughorns of the world - had noticed the duality within her.

"It's not uncommon to share traits across houses. Most people have an element of a hatstall within them," she said, firmly.

"Yes," Moody agreed, leaning even more closely to them. "Your boyfriend concurred with you, didn't he? You've said as much to him, haven't you? The pair of you whispering about how - if these blood laws weren't so prevalent, if purism wasn't a movement - you'd have been in the same house? Sharing classes? A common room?" He arches his eyebrow, knowing his comments have hit the spot.

"And?"

"And," Moody continues triumphantly, "did he ever tell you which other house the hat considered for him?"

He hadn't. She assumed it was Ravenclaw, as for all of his loyalty to her and his dedication to his work, he was hardly a Hufflepuff - whereas his sharp mind and his enthusiasm for learning was clear to see. "No."

"Young Black is interesting, don't you think?"

She frowns, not quite following the shift in conversation. "Because he should've been a Slytherin?"

"Because he should've been a Slytherin," Moody agrees softly. "And because his little gang of friends were so at odds with your boy, weren't they?"

She gives a stiff nod. If Moody is an old friend of Albus - and they've clearly discussed the background of Severus, and his failure to join the Order - then there's no point in pretending otherwise, or feigning lack of knowledge. "Yes."

Moody gives a twisted little grin. "Did your boy ever tell you that if mixed relations weren't so frowned upon by society and if upholding family heritage wasn't so important to him, you'd have been in the same house? Sharing classes? A common room?"

And this time, although she isn't quite sure she's followed his logic the whole way through, she is stunned at his apparent conclusion. "Severus could've been a Gryffindor?"

"It was, I believe, Minerva McGonagall's greatest lament - that she and Horace and Albus were to spend so much time patching up battles between her young lions, and your snake of a boyfriend. That if the hat had talked you into Slytherin, or Severus into Gryffindor-"

"-none of that antagonism would've happened." She looks at him, astonished. It makes sense when she thinks about it - Severus is quick, and lives on his wits - he talked them out of trouble when she'd been dealing, and devised the method to evade the aurors - but there's a streak of determination in him; he might not choose to fight as his first means of dealing with a situation, but thanks to Potter and Black's unrelenting pursuing of him around the grounds of Hogwarts, Severus was a first class dueller and not one to back down. _Courage_ , she thinks. 

And then she thinks about his whipped back, and his meeting with the Dark Lord - of what it must've taken for Severus, given that he hated talking about his feelings, to permit another to invade his mind, to dredge up such a hateful memory, and then to re-enact it. To stand there and take such a beating - presumably with Lucius Malfoy watching - knowing that this powerful wizard has you outclassed, and there's no other way out. _Is that Slytherin self-preservation_ , she wonders, _or Gryffindor nerve_? 

She can't help but wonder how close they both were to switching houses. She can remember the hat's whispered paradox even now: 

_Slytherin would be difficult, I shall not lie._  
_Gryffindor's path is far easier to tread._  
_And as for me?_  
_I cannot advise you which you should take._  
_All I can suggest is:_  
_The Slytherin decision would be to choose Gryffindor._  
_Whilst the Gryffindor decision would be to choose Slytherin._

She idly wonders if the hat had the same discussion with Severus, and whether he'd made the Slytherin choice, or the Gryffindor one.

"I am not like the hat," Moody says, breaking her train of thought. "I am not whimsical, or prone to fits of rhyme," and she can't help but smile at his comment. "Nor am I full of riddles."

"No? You sound it tonight."

"And there's the Gryffindor within you," he nods. "Perhaps the hat did not get it so wrong after all."

"Is there a reason for this reminiscence?" she asks, pointedly.

Moody stands, and moves around the table, and she can smell the musk of his robes behind her. "I am straightforward," he says, leaning over next to her, his hard face pressed next to her own soft cheek. "White is white, black is black, the sky is blue, the grass is green."

"...I don't understand."

"I am a fighter, Evans," he warns. "I'm not a politician. I'm not an orchestrator of plans. I do not infiltrate the enemy."

At this, she jolts. "They want me to spy?"

"And I want you to consider your options very carefully," he says, pulling away. "There will be a proposal - there always is-"

"There are already spies?"

"I have been to many funerals of late." He twitches at her astonished gasp. "Do you understand now why I suggested you revisit the blasted hat's paradoxical prattling?" 

And then they both hear clicking footsteps, and he steps smoothly away from her, reaching for the door handle - but then he turns back to face her. 

"You think I can't decide whether you're a Madonna or a whore, but my real question is whether you are a Gryffindor or a Slytherin. You should think carefully, Evans," he warns. And then, before she can speak, he yanks the door open.

Lily hears a murmuring outside - of male and female voices mixing - and then she hears Moody's heavy footsteps clunking down the hall and becoming progressively fainter. 

"Hello Lily," and a smiling Vance steps into the interview room, the door slamming heavily behind her.


	28. Conjecture and supposition

The interview room is cold, and her wrists ache - and the silence is eating away at her.  She isn't sure if this is a psychological game, or whether she's supposed to be speaking first, or whether Vance is genuinely reading the papers on the desk before her.  Lily's coughed twice and sighed once, and neither has inspired any sort of reaction from Vance.  Instead, Vance shuffles the papers, turns them over, and occasionally dips a quill in a pot of ink and scrawls something unintelligible on the papers - and Lily knows that it's code or scribble, because she has always been able to read upside down.  She sighs again, trying to count how many pages are in the stack, wondering how long this will go on for.

* * *

The study is overly warm and stuffy - the fire roaring in the grate is overkill for the time of year, as whilst the British weather remains as unpredictable as ever, the heat from the fire is entirely at odds with the clement weather outdoors.  Despite this, the three men sit in contemplative silence around the grate, before Fudge loudly claps his hands against his knees and stands.  

"And you're quite sure, Alastor?"

"In times such as these, nobody can be _quite_ sure," Dumbledore interrupts before Moody can answer.  "For me, Alastor's word is enough."  He peers intently at the Minister for Magic.  "And forgive me, but I would've thought that the word of one of your star aurors-"

"Well," starts Fudge, looking uncomfortable, and shooting Moody an uneasy smile, "I think Alastor himself would be the first to concede that his methods are often unorthodox."

"Unorthodox but effective," Moody clarifies.  "Dumbledore, how many have we lost this year?"

"Six," Dumbledore says, quickly.  

Fudge looks horrified.  "Six?  We've lost six spies?"

Dumbledore grimaces.  "It is perhaps a kindness to refer to them all in such a manner."  He stares evenly at Fudge.  "The truth is, barely any of these managed to infiltrate the Death Eater network - the shutters are down."

Moody frowns.  "The shutters are down?"

"Muggle parlance," Fudge explains without explaining anything at all.  

* * *

She's thirsty, and hungry, and now her wrists not only ache, but her fingers are numb - and yet, Vance still keeps flipping the pages over, scratching ink on every third paragraph.  Finally, Vance reaches the very last page, and then sniffs, places it on top of the rest of the pages and straightens them loudly, banging them on the table edge.  She turns the entire stack over, and Lily's jaw clenches - surely she's not going to start the whole charade again from the top?

She isn't.

Instead, Vance caps her ink and settles her quill on the table.  Lily shifts slightly in her chair, desperately flicking her fingers behind her back and trying to bring some feeling back in them.

"Uncomfortable?"

"...yes."

Vance nods.  "Would you like me to undo the fastenings?"

"I would like you to," Lily says, warily, "but am I to assume it is going to cost me?"

And Vance beams at her broadly.  She moves quickly, and with a quick slash of her wand, the cuffs are broken.  Lily groans as she brings her arms to her front, holding them against her chest - she wants to rub her wrists, but her fingers have so little feeling, they're leaden and useless, and unresponsive to her wishes.

"You did well."

Lily eyes her as she moves back across the room.  "This was a test?  You were testing me?"

"Of sorts," Vance says, an odd expression on her face.  "For your own ends, rather than mine."

Lily ponders this, as Vance doesn't offer further explanation.  "...you wanted me to know that I could withstand this?"

"Amelia and Alastor have gone to great lengths to assure me of your intellect," she says.  "I am pleased that they are not mistaken."  She leans forward, and takes Lily's hands, rubbing her wrists gently - and Lily swallows uncomfortably; Vance's hands are warm and her skin is dry, and her movements are not soothing, but instead feel like sandpaper scraping across her sensitive skin.

* * *

"And you, Alastor," he says, moving back behind his desk, and hunting through parchment, "you think that this idea of yours is the credible way in?"

"Yes."

Fudge sniffs, and waves his quill around.  "It must go through your boss."

"With all due respect, Cornelius," Dumbledore interjects, "effectively you _are_ his boss."

"No, with all due respect, _Dumbledore_ ," Fudge argues, stressing the Headmaster's surname, "I delegate for a reason."

"I explained," Moody snarls, "why I did not take this to my boss."

"No," Fudge says, patiently, "you presented me with conjecture and supposition."

"What else is there?  The Ministry is riddled with Death Eaters," Moody argues, "and you should not be relying upon the testimony of-"

"-but I should rely on yours?"  Fudge shoots him a dark look.  "No, no, Dumbledore, I'm afraid that this just won't do."

"Cornelius," Dumbledore says, pointedly continuing to use his old friend's first name, "I implore you-"

"Through the proper channels, Moody," he says, dismissing the pair with a wave of his hand.  "Due process."

"Cornelius-"

Fudge raises a hand, and then glances at the portraits on the wall meaningfully, and then glances back at Dumbledore.  "Due process," he repeats. "That is how these things are pursued."  And then he smiles.  "If, indeed, they are to be pursued at all."

* * *

Vance pulls out a bottle, and a piece of folded parchment.  "And you recognise these, I assume?"

The neat looping bow of rainbow colours shimmers under the artificial light, and Lily points at it.  "This, yes."

"And, to satisfy my belief that we're on the same page, would you be prepared to elaborate?"

"...it's Rain Away."

"Just Rain Away?" Vance presses.  Lily doesn't answer, and Vance leans forward.  "Who brewed this vial of Rain Away?  ...your boyfriend, perhaps?"

"...no."

"Then who?"

Lily's heart hammers a little faster, as she prepares to condemn herself.  "...I did."

"In a laboratory?"  Vance raises her eyebrows, and flicks the stack of parchment sitting next to her.  "I ask, because I have checked, and I cannot find registration of-"

"No."  Lily's heart is banging faster now, her mind racing, wondering what answer to give if she's pressed further - but to her relief, Vance has turned her attention to the parchment instead.  She unfolds it carefully and passes it to Lily, and she recognises it straight away.  "This is Belby's work," Lily immediately acknowledges.

"Yes, it is," Vance agrees.  "How interesting that an unsponsored Muggleborn would instantly recognise such a-"

"It's not interesting," Lily hotly argues, her anger erupting from her, "least, not to you.   _You_ gave it to Sirius Black."

Vance sits back now, a triumphant smirk on her face.  "Yes.  Yes, I did."  And then she rubs her hands together.  "And you brewed it, didn't you?  But _where_?"

"Unless you are planning to charge for me for brewing illegal potions," she says, narrowing her eyes, "then I don't see what the relevance is."  Lily folds her arms over her chest.  "And if you're going to charge me for brewing illegally, then…"

"Yes?"

"...I might be inclined to reveal the source of the parchment."

Vance shrugs.  "Yes, and I imagine that a grand total of four people would believe you:  Sirius Black, James Potter, Remus Lupin and your beloved boyfriend, Severus Snape."  She smiles nastily.  "You might understand that the rest of the wizarding world wouldn't be so willing to take the word of a disgruntled Muggleborn."

Lily's heart is hammering again, but she merely inclines her head, remembering Severus' cool response when the aurors trapped them in the flat:   _You might be terrified_ , she thinks, _but_ V _ance doesn't have to know you're scared, Lily.  Keep calm.  Do what Severus did._

"Oh, how silly of me," Vance says, suddenly standing and pacing back and forth.  "Five people!"

Lily stares at the pacing woman - _is she about to suggest Pettigrew, the fourth in Potter's sorry band of delinquents?  Or Moody?  Or-_

"Lucius Malfoy," she says with a flourish, interrupting Lily's internal monologue.

"Lucius Malfoy?"

And then Vance is back at the table, slamming her palms on the wood and leaning in closer.  "Yes, Lucius Malfoy.  Your broker.  The middleman.  The intermediary.  Your go-between."

* * *

"That went well," Dumbledore beams, clapping Moody on the back.

Moody looks at him, horrified.  "Did we both just attend a different meeting?"

"The walls have ears, Alastor," Dumbledore says, smoothly.  "Even in the Minister's office."

Moody's horrified look doesn't abate at his placating.  "Then why did you let me speak so frankly?  The whole point of me raising the idea of her being an infiltrator-"

"-now now, Alastor.  Let's see what comes back, shall we?  That is the point of the meeting."

Alastor looks at Dumbledore, unable to comprehend what he's hearing.  "No, Albus, the point of the meeting was to stop her before she did any more damage."

"You heard my statement," Dumbledore says, softly.  "We have lost six."

"Because of the likes of her."

"If it is her," Dumbledore says, quickly.  "Perhaps it is not.  That's what this was about."  He puts his hand on Moody's shoulder.  "I appreciate, Alastor-"

"-no, you don't."  He flinches, knocking Dumbledore's hand away.  "This isn't a game, Albus.  People are dying.   _Good_ people are dying."

At this, Dumbledore's eyebrows raise.  "And did you spare such a thought for the boy?"  He smiles at Moody's lack of response.  "Of course not.  He's merely collateral damage.  Skirted a little too close to the railway line, perhaps?  Deserves what he gets?"  Dumbledore shrugs.  "And who could disagree with you?  But still, what a shame for him - and what of his lovely girlfriend?"

"His lovely girlfriend is laying down on the tracks as we speak."

* * *

Vance takes Lily's silence as confirmation that she's on the right track, and sits back down, her expression a curious combination of pleased and proud, and altogether too self-congratulatory for Lily's liking - especially as she was completely off the mark.  Then Vance is at the door, conversing with a house elf, and a few moments later, she's back and there's a large jug of water on the table and a plate of biscuits.

Vance waves at them, and indicates that Lily should help herself, and although Lily is wary as to the content of the water, she's so thirsty, she can't help but gulp it down - although she attempts to allay her fears by subtly sniffing it first, remembering Severus' instruction, relayed to her following his own lessons in his apprenticeship:   _Sev, you're being ridiculous.  When will I ever need to know this?_ \- and although he'd smiled and pulled her into his arms, he'd carried on his explanation irrespective - _We're on the brink of war.  The world is ridiculous - now listen up, love.  I'd never forgive myself if I didn't show you…_ As it is, Vance doesn't seem to notice her pressing her nose into her glass and inhaling before imbibing.

"As we're being honest with each other," Vance says, sipping from her own glass, and casting a charm to warm the room, "I feel I should explain that this has come as a surprise to some aurors."  She smiles again.  "But not me."

"Oh?"

"No, I thought the idea of Snape being Malfoy's brewer was all too obvious," she says, jabbing the air with her half-eaten biscuit.  "But, of course, he's not involved at all, is he?"  She pauses, and when Lily doesn't answer, she nods.  "No, Snape isn't involved in your little enterprise, so I am sure you're worrying about what his reaction will be?"  

And then she pauses again, and this time, Lily is the one to nod.  

"I wouldn't," Vance answers.  "Your real concern is the fact that Malfoy thinks so little of you, he has sold you down the river."

Her face pales now - _Malfoy has given my name?_ \- and in a twisted way, she's silently pleased that her reaction doesn't go unnoticed - _this is surely how I'd react if Malfoy was my broker, surely how Severus would react if he was sitting here, knowing that his old friend had ratted him out_.  

"It was a test that was expected to go one of two ways," Vance explains.  "The Wolfsbane was either supposed to lure your boyfriend into the Order - a way of ensuring that he pledged himself to those within the group-"

"Or a way of proving that he was brewing outside of Jigger's laboratory, therefore declaring himself to Malfoy and the Death Eaters?" Lily guesses.

Vance lifted her glass and took another slow sip before speaking.  "Yes.  Of course, we already know Snape brews here and there."  

Lily tries her hardest to keep her face impassive, and not to reveal anything, and it seems to work, as Vance continues quite happily.  

"We've seen him dealing in small time potions, but given his supposed prowess, there's no reason for us to believe that he couldn't do so during his apprenticeship hours.  A few cauldrons of Rain Away or Sundown or Night Rhythm would barely be noticed - and certainly wouldn't be commented on by the likes of either Borage or Jigger, would they?  But Wolfsbane...  Wolfsbane is a different matter entirely."

Lily ignores the question, determined not to fall into any traps.  "But Severus didn't brew the Wolfsbane."

"No," grins Vance.  "No, he did not.  And there was the big surprise.  His sudden departure was a concern to me, as I had already set the trap with Black and Potter-"

"They were in on it?"

Vance shakes her head.  "They merely facilitated the deal.  I had something they wanted, and they didn't think to question it."  She smiles.  "My good fortune was in not realising that they wouldn't wait for Snape when he disappeared - instead, they found the real brewer for me."  She sits back triumphantly.  "Which is good news for me.  And perhaps also for your lover, else he'd be sat opposite me now instead - and I suspect I would be a little less gracious towards him."  

Lily shuffles awkwardly in her seat.  "Less gracious than keeping someone bound for hours on end?"

Vance gave a small laugh.  "Now now, that was barely anything.  I would be less gracious because we both know that his story writes itself - he's a little darker than he should be, and at best, he doesn't care too much where his money comes from."  She sniffs.  "And at worst?  At worst, he's a fully paid up Death Eater."  

Lily daren't argue with this damning assessment of her boyfriend - daren't even breathe, but fortunately, Vance doesn't seem to require her further participation in the conversation.  

Instead, Vance taps her fingernails against her empty glass.  "But you, Lily Evans, you're much more interesting.  Why would a Muggleborn be working for a purist?  And why would that Muggleborn working for a purist decide to join the Order of the Phoenix?"

* * *

Lucius places his hand on Severus' shoulder, and pushes him onto the sofa.  "Honestly, Severus, this is helping nobody."  He points at his friend's boots.  "And you said it yourself, she'll be furious if she sees you've tramped mud across the-"

"I don't care about the bloody mud!" he yells.  

"No, but you care about the muddy-"

"If you don't fuck _off_ , right now, Malf-"

Lucius raises his eyebrow.  "As you're upset, I shall overlook this, Severus."  He pulls out a chair from under the table and sits in it, opposite his friend.  "You need to calm down."

"I can't fucking calm down, Malf.  She's missing.   _Again_.  And this time she's not with fucking Potter, so this time, _this time_ , Malf, she just might be in trouble!"

Lucius smiles.  "I'm sure not, Severus.  I'm sure not."

* * *

"I was looking for a way out," Lily says, desperately.  "That's why I joined the Order."  She glances at the older woman, and hopes that her skin stays pale, and an unwanted flush doesn't creep up onto her face.  "You're right that Severus introduced me to Malfoy, but he has no idea of our true relationship."  She looks at her hands. "You know Severus works at the Three Broomsticks?"

"Yes."

"He's always been adamant that we earn our money in an above board manner-"  

Vance snorts in derision.  "When did he decide this?  Before the deaths, was it?"

Lily stiffens.  "That was an accident."

"So the record states," Vance says, dismissively.  "Although your point is valid - I can see why he would choose to keep his head down."  She stares at Lily.  "So how did Malfoy approach you?  How did he convince you?"

"...does it matter?"  Lily stares at Vance, willing her not to ask her any further questions - desperate not to commit herself to a web of lies that may be easily contradicted by the malevolent Malfoy.

"Yes."

"I asked him to sponsor me," she blurts out.

"You, a Muggleborn, asked Lucius Malfoy to sponsor you?"  Vance's eyes narrow suspiciously.

"Severus isn't pure enough," she says.  "His father is a Muggle, so his blood is equal.  It's not enough."

Vance gives her a pitying look.  "It's unfortunate that you believe that," she says.

"It's true!" she argues, knowing that it isn't, but knowing this is the safest argument.  "Severus and I asked-"

"Don't tell me," laughed Vance gleefully, "you asked _Lucius Malfoy_ , didn't you?"  She shakes her head.  "He must've seen the pair of you coming."

Lily sits a little straighter, as if pretending not to be hurt by the slight.  "And Malfoy said he couldn't sponsor me, as it would affect his name - but a few days later, he proposed an arrangement where I would brew for him."  She shrugs.  "We needed the money.  I couldn't work.  It was an easy decision.  ...but I got cold feet, and I wanted out - so I joined the Order, hoping that we could overthrow the likes of Malfoy."

"And Snape?  Does he know of this arrangement?"

"No," she says, quickly.  "My father has been paying for my half of the flat for months.  Severus thinks that the money is still coming from him."

"Good," Vance says.  "Keep it that way."

"...you want me to continue?"

"I want you to continue," Vance affirms.  "Business as usual."

"But you said that Malfoy gave you my name," she argues.  "How can I possibly continue?"

"He did," Vance says.  "But then, he doesn't know you're here now, does he?"  She smiles broadly.  "So let us both pretend that this little meeting didn't occur.  Keep in touch with Malfoy through your usual channels, and wait for my instruction."

"Instruction?"

"Oh yes," Vance says, her expression hard.  "Because unless you want to go to Azkaban for the next decade or five, you will do exactly as I say."


	29. Prey

He beats himself up about it, even now.   _Stupid_ _stupid boy_.  He remembers reading about those killers in the paper when he was a teen - the ones without any remorse; the ones who treat murder like a cheap alternative to a Saturday night in the pub - and he knows that if anyone was to ever scribble down his story, if anyone ever had cause to ruminate on his life and his behaviour, that moment in the tunnel was the turning point.  

And it was just a moment - a handful of seconds where he felt the blood beating in his ears, and smelled the sweat and the piss and the blood, and heard the terrible howl of anguished transformation which was so unlike anything he'd ever witnessed in McGonagall's classroom.  

His knees had wobbled, his limbs had suddenly felt loose in their sockets, and he'd caught sight of the bloodied jaws and the furred snout, and then there'd been a warm hand around his neck and Potter screaming - and it wasn't like his usual yawping down the corridor, or his boorish yelling during the middle of a Quidditch match - his eyes were bulging, and his face was red from exertion, and his chest was heaving and he was screaming at the top of his voice, _"Get out get out get out now get out now now get out now!"_

It was futile.  Severus couldn't move; he was fixed to the spot - and that oft-cited fight or flight response had deserted him, because he couldn't flee and yet, staring at the horrific monster before him, he knew he couldn't fight.  He was nothing.  He was nobody.  He was _prey_.

And then Potter had grabbed him again, pulling him and pushing him, shoving him, manhandling him, and somehow - even though Severus' body was conspiring against them both - had dragged him away.  Potter's hand remained firm on his collar, and Severus had stumbled over and over, his legs and feet ignoring his brain's terrified commands, and when they emerged at the base of the Willow, he was scuffed and dirty, bruised and bloodied.  He instinctively put his palm to his mouth, ignoring the grit that was mixed with thick scarlet, and sucked at the deepest wound.

"Don't do that," Potter warned, gulping in great breaths of air, leaning heavily against the thick trunk of the now stilled tree.

Severus paused, unsure.   _Don't do that?  Don't do that?_ Was that all?  Was _this_ his grand rebuke for sneaking down the tunnel and discovering that the weird sickly Lupin kid was a werewolf?   _Don't do that?_

And then, seeing Severus' confusion, Potter pointed at his damaged hand, and then back at the tunnel.  "It's not dirt that you're sucking out of that scrape," he said, through ripples of laughter, "it's probably rat shit."

Sometimes, when he's stirring a cauldron during a particularly boring part of a brew, his mind will wander and he'll mull on whether it's as obvious to everyone else - or whether he's only able to isolate the moment because he knew he felt something snap.

He wasn't prepared to be prey.

It was obvious to his mother, and to his father - but he wonders if that was purely because they saw the blood on his hands, and the proof of his newfound deviancy.  Perhaps it wasn't obvious, _isn't_ obvious - perhaps if he keeps his secrets tightly pressed to his chest, nobody else will ever work it out.

He has a lot of these secrets.  He's good at keeping secrets. He's had a lot of practice at keeping his mouth shut.  But sometimes, secrets slip out - sometimes other people work out the truth. Sometimes they send the social around.  Sometimes they realise you've murdered a dog. _And that means that one day_ , he thinks, as he stirs the cauldron more vigorously, _someone might realise that you're on the brink of doing something terrible_.

He's never understood women.  Not really.  It's a trite statement to make, and it's the sort of disparaging comment that he associates more with his father than himself - he prides himself on being an intellectual, and far less dismissive of a little over half of the population of the planet.  Still, it's a phrase that rings true with him, even if he has to acknowledge the source as being Tobias; he'd heard his father mutter it on more than one occasion.

Sometimes he'd say it directly to Severus, despite it being wholly inappropriate to whine about his wife to his son, but more often than not, it'd be the sort of sentiment he'd keep for the ears of his work colleagues.  Occasionally, Tobias would dare to use it when Eileen herself was in earshot, and on those days, Severus knew that it was deliberate - a goad. 

It's not a nice phrase, he knew that even as a child, but it's not filled with real malice - and Severus knew only too well that if a man wanted to damage his woman, there are fists and boots and belts to do that; words are nasty and spiteful and mean, but they don't leave black eyes or reddened scars.  

No, it doesn't do real damage.  It's simply the language of the mill, of the pit, of the building site.  It's the tone of the pub and the bookies and the working men's club, but Severus has never been sure whether it's the genuinely held belief of the men that Tobias associates with, or Tobias' own belief, or whether it's just words - a stock phrase that's uttered without thought behind it, like the endless commentary on the weather, or the proper way to queue for a bus.  Although Severus couldn't blame Tobias if he did truly believe it; Eileen was hardly the sort of woman who lent herself to being understood, even if she didn't admit to it.

She never explained herself to Severus.  Instead, she had always tilted his focus away from her, and back to his father - forcing him to acknowledge his father's worst faults, seemingly in an effort to stop him from following in Tobias' footsteps.  Eileen had starkly warned him against spouting such nonsense, and she had clipped him so hard around the back of the head when he'd dared voice such words himself, his vision had briefly shimmered - like the haze on the road on a summer's day.

_"Fuck, Mam, that hurt!"_ he'd exclaimed, gripping the back of his head - and for his language, she'd belted him as hard again across his other ear.

_"I'll tell you now, Severus Snape, you'll never find yourself a good woman,"_ she had warned, _"behaving like him."_

She hadn't needed to explain who _he_ was.  Severus never bothered to answer her when she rebuked him for behaving like Tobias.   _It's not my fault if the apple doesn't fall far from the tree_ , he used to think.   _You chose him_.  

When he was a kid, he used to hope that it wasn't a done deal - that Tobias' genetics weren't his genetics, and that his da wasn't his da.  Instead, his real father was an enigmatic and dangerous wizard, and that one day, he'd waltz down the street and claim his child and rescue his downtrodden wife, and whisk them out of the misery that they were living in.  He'd be on the run, this wizard - naturally. An enemy of the state, with expensive flowing robes, and a patch over one eye, and a scar down his chin - but he'd be talented and powerful and magical, and he was simply waiting for the political tide to turn.  Then, he'd no longer be an outlaw, but a respected member of wizarding society, and his wife and child would be welcomed - no, _exalted_ \- and they'd live in a big house together, and they'd never go hungry, and nobody would shout or slam doors or swipe the ornaments off the mantelpiece or order him to lower his trousers and force him to listen for the whistle of a belt.

Oh yes, he knew all about fantasies, did Severus Snape.  He clutched onto the daydream for far longer than he should've - for far longer than was sensible.  

As a child, it was easy to convince himself it was possible that Tobias wasn't his father as Severus himself was the spitting image of Eileen.  Although his father was clearly the better looking of the married couple, Severus couldn't bring himself to wish that he looked like the man who shared his mother's bed.  Instead, he desperately wanted to look like anyone other than Tobias - to rid himself of the Muggle blood running through his veins, and to just be magical instead.  But as the years passed by, he found that his newly maturing body mimicked his father's more and more - the hints of his da were suddenly not just mere shadows or tricks of the light, but at times, it was as if Tobias were the one peering into the mirror and not Severus.  It wasn't just the shape of his ears and nose - _oh, that nose_ \- but it was the jut of his jaw, the widening of his shoulders, the way his wiry biceps and triceps were thickening with all that cauldron carrying, the rope of vein that stuck out along his forearms, and the ever-spreading body hair.  To his shame, he was long - too long - into his Hogwarts career before he finally accepted that his fantasy was nothing more than childish nonsense.  He wasn't just a Snape by name; he was a Snape by blood.

But if his dreams were nonsense, so was Tobias' and Eileen's marriage.  For the life of him, Severus couldn't understand why they stuck it out - and each anniversary seemed to pass with a tight smile and a grim nod instead of an enthusiastic celebration of their monogamous devotion.  It wasn't a happy moment, but some sort of twisted penance of their own devising - not a chain of Hail Marys and Our Fathers, or each of them chalking another line in their five-bar-gate on a cell wall: 5 years, 10 years, 15 years - _"It's a life sentence.  Yer'd get less for murder.  I'd be out by now if I'd wrung someone's neck, an' I'll tell yer, there's been some days when I've come close..."_ \- but some sort of acceptance.  This was their lot, and they were content to struggle through, even if there was no promised pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.  From where he was sat on the sidelines, Severus wasn't even convinced there was a rainbow.

He could remember when he'd finally realised that all wasn't what it seemed on the surface; that there was more to the marriage than he'd been able to comprehend as a child.  Everyone is quick, even now, to cite the glorious summer of 1976, but Severus could remember the summer back in August of '75, when the horribly cold start to the holidays suddenly gave way to a furious heatwave - and that's partly why this memory was burnt so clearly into his brain; the feel of the sun beating down on his back is enough to drag him back to the stifling heat of that summer in Spinner's End.  He could remember the house feeling like an oven, the air so thick, it was difficult to breathe.

His parents had battled with him about leaving his bedroom door open.  

_"It creates a breeze if yer keep yer door open,"_ his da had explained, with more than a hint of impatience.  

_"If you keep your window open, and we keep our window open, and we have all of the doors open,"_ Eileen had elaborated, _"it helps the house to cool down."_

He could hardly argue with them, least, not effectively - it was simple physics.  Their house was impossibly hot, especially upstairs, so even the smallest improvement was welcomed and the slight breeze created by the open windows and doors did make a difference.  So, he'd swallowed his pride and acquiesced - but open doors were difficult; he was 15 after all.  He'd done his best to abstain, to keep his hands up by his head, and he could remember the horrible feeling of sweat trickling down his body as he lay naked on the mattress, his sheets bundled into a ball and placed strategically over his groin to preserve his modesty, lest either of his parents glance across at his room as they walked across the landing.

He'd been at home for less than a fortnight when his da collared him.  His mam was hanging out the washing, and Tobias had stalked over to him, and slammed his fist down on the table so fiercely, the tea in his cup bounced.   _"I know it's hard, son,"_ and Severus had flushed crimson, certain by the twisted smile that Tobias was shooting towards him that his father's choice of words was deliberate, _"but a bit of respect wouldn't go amiss."_

It was ironic, really - because they were complaining about him daring to give in to his hormone fuelled urges under the cover of darkness, as if he didn't have to listen to the tell-tale grunts and groans emerging from their own room, and as if those noises didn't cause his stomach to twist in a way that he found incredibly unnerving.

It bothered him.  Not in the way that other people talked about their parents having sex - he'd always been pragmatic, and accepted that if people in relationships had sex, it would be bizarre if his parents didn't also have sex.  No, it was more than that. When he was a kid, what had bothered him was that his mother had chosen to stay with Tobias.  When he was old enough to leave home for the relative sanctuary of Hogwarts, he'd shrugged the thought off - if she was stupid enough to stay with some violent Muggle drunk, then it was none of his business; in a few short years, he wouldn't have to put up with either of them any longer.

But what he overheard that summer - what he inadvertently witnessed - it really bothered him.  It bothered him on a visceral level that he couldn't explain away as simply knowing that his parents were having sex.  It bothered him, because he was certain that his father was hurting her, and as he had eyed them both curiously over tea whilst he stirred his vegetables into a soggy mush, he'd realised that Tobias was doing it on purpose.   He couldn't quite fathom _why_ , and he spent the nights as an unwilling voyeur ruminating on Tobias' motives - _Is he drunk?  Or stupid?  Does he not realise?  Or is he trying to prove something to me?_

As the weeks wore on, his focus moved to his mother's lack of reaction at being used in such a way when her son was just a few feet away across the landing - _Why doesn't she kill him?  ...I'd kill him._ And then, one night, as he'd shoved his head under his pillow in a futile attempt to block them out, it'd occurred to him that maybe she didn't kill him because she found it just as arousing as Tobias did - that she was getting off on the pain and the exhibitionism and the humiliation.  As the thought dawned, he'd pulled the pillow off his head and stared in horror at the ceiling, his eyes tracing the silken path of a spider who was making the long journey from the window to his lightshade, and the noises seemed to grow louder and louder and louder.

He didn't tell anyone.  Ever.  He was good at keeping secrets.  Not even Lily, even when she asked him outright.   _"I'm not a pervert,"_ he'd said.  And he wasn't.  Least, he didn't think he was.  He hadn't sought them out, and he couldn't help if he'd reacted to what he'd heard.  It was natural.   _"You can get a hard on for all sorts of reasons,"_ Lucius had told him, and he knew it was true - when he was doing his homework, when he was sat in the Great Hall, once most inconveniently when he was traversing the stairs to the Astronomy Tower.  It's not as if he had a thing for the moon, was it? 

No.  It was them, not him.   _Both_ of them.  Not just Tobias, but Eileen as well.  At least Tobias he could sort of understand, on a base level.  That urge.  But his mother?  He didn't understand her at all.  So, just like his father, he would repeat the mantra for years to come:   _I don't understand women, I really don't.  Never have.  Never will._ It's funny, really, how - for all his mother's efforts - he turned out just like Tobias in the end.

So, when Lily had finally returned home, her eyes tired and her face drawn, and she'd briefly explained her version of the evening's events, he had chosen not to press the issue.   _Don't pick the scab, son_.  He didn't force her to tell the truth.  He didn't pick up on the inconsistencies in her tale.  He simply raised his eyebrows, and shrugged at all of the right moments, and made sure he looked outraged or shocked or dismayed as her story unfolded.   There was a moment, right at the end of the conversation, when he'd started to ask her a question, but she'd quickly changed the subject - and as the new topic led to her rapidly removing first her clothes, and then his, he wasn't particularly motivated to change the subject back.

* * *

Lucius presses the issue with him more than he himself had done with Lily.  He feels somewhat shamed that it catches him off-guard, and that he doesn't have his answers prepared and memorised, ready for the intense bout of questions that were clearly going to be flung his way.

"She was caught without papers, Malf," he snarls.  "Like an idiot."

"They pulled her in for that?"

The story sounds pathetic to his own ears, but this time he can't weave a deft web of lies, because he simply doesn't know enough about Lily's skirmish with the aurors to make it believable - least, not to someone who has their own hotline to the department and can verify every word he utters.  All he can do is parrot the same trite answers she gave to him, and they sound as hollow when he repeats them to Lucius as they'd done when she'd told him her story.  The only difference was, she'd stopped him from asking further questions by sinking to her knees and sucking his cock until his knees had buckled.  Remembering it causes Severus to give a wry smile to himself.   _It might stop Malf asking further questions, but I'm not doing that_...

"You've found the funny side of the situation, I see.  Care to share?"

Severus quickly adjusts his expression.  "It's just the sheer ridiculousness of it.  They let her stew for hours.  She was only walking down the street."

Lucius shrugs.  "The announcement was all over the press.  The Ministry did warn that carrying papers was to be made mandatory."  Despite his unsympathetic words, he looks surprised.  "Mind, I didn't expect them to react quite so harshly this early on."

Severus' voice is incredulous.  "You didn't expect them to react harshly to a..."  

"...you can say it."

Severus gives his friend a dark look.  "I am _not_ saying it.  I know the Ministry wants to control how we think, but they can't force me to use the words."

Lucius looks uncomfortable.  "Promise me that if they pull you in, you won't make this the hill you die on."

"Meaning?"

"It's a very noble cause," Lucius says, "and I'm sure she appreciates it."  He rolls his wand between his fingers, and then slides it back into his cane.

"But?"

"If people realise you're deliberately abstaining-"

"It's hardly abstinence!  It's just a word that I choose not to use."

"Exactly.  It's just a word."  Lucius shoots him a dark look.  "People will use _anything_ to rile you, Severus.  And if calling your witch a Mudblo-"

"Don't!"

"This is what I'm talking about!"  Lucius thumps his cane against the ground, punctuating each thought with a dull thud.  " _That_ is the Ministry approved term.   _That_ is what she is.   _That_ is what her papers say."

"...I'm not saying it."

He leans over his cane.  "Like it or not, Severus, your favoured terminology has been removed.  There are Purebloods, and Halfbloods, and Mudbloods.  There is no such thing as a Muggleborn.  She is a _Mudblood_."

* * *

Sickeningly, he knows Lucius is right and he thinks back to when he was a kid, and when he'd have to listen to Tobias going on and on about women being seen and not heard, and how men couldn't understand them.  He thinks about how he knew back then that words couldn't hurt, or that - at the very least - they didn't hurt in the same way that beatings did.

And then he thinks about Lily's face when she'd opened her new papers.  He thinks about his own magical documents, emblazoned with his photograph and the proud proclamation that he was Severus Snape, wizard.  The photographs were taken just after they'd officially graduated from Hogwarts and had become full members of the magical community.  His grin was broad and full of crooked uneven teeth, and the tip of his wand twirled into the moving picture as he flicked it happily into the air. He'd been full of joy, and hope, and promise - and so had she.

But now, her happy picture had been replaced.  He'd been at work the day she'd been taken down to the local auror office, and her photo had been snapped in the custody suite.  She'd told him, through tears, that the only thing to distinguish her from the criminals was that she wasn't holding a prisoner number - but instead, the piece of wood she was holding was emblazoned with a single word: _Mudblood_.

He'd stared at her new papers for ages that night, marked with the awful new terminology, comparing them with his own.  His nose was large and his hair was greasy, and he could see a horrible and painful patch of impetigo around the corner of his mouth - but it hadn't been enough to dampen his excitement of receiving his papers; his licence to live in the magical world.

They'd always been an odd pairing, with her beauty and his sour features, but he'd taught himself to be grateful, and not to question her choice.  Yet even he couldn't reconcile the two of them together when he compared the pictures, albeit for opposite reasons - he was every inch the exuberant youth, with his whole life to look forward to, whereas it seemed that a few short years had drained the life from Lily; her lips were grey and her eyes were reddened, and her skin was blotchy.  She looked miserable, like a woman with nothing left to live for, and he couldn't imagine the cheerful teen in his photograph stopping to buy her a drink at the bar.  Not for the first time, he found himself reconsidering whether words could do damage after all.

She's still seeing Potter.  Letting him walk her home.  He hasn't told her to stop.  He doesn't think he can - not after he sees that photograph; if he takes this from her, she'll have nothing.  He doesn't want her affiliated to the Order - it's far too risky - but then, if she knew just how deeply his relationship with Lucius Malfoy ran, she'd probably argue the same - and that's an argument he can't have; he simply can't choose between her and Lucius.  Not because he doesn't love her, but because Lucius holds all of the threads of his life - the flat, the job, the dealing, and he's certain that the threat of Azkaban would be floated his way once more.

She's happy that he hasn't raised Potter as an issue again, he thinks.  She can't see it, he's certain - she can't see that Potter looks at her like a starving man who has spied a thick-sliced sandwich.  But he can see it, and Potter knows he can see it - and they both know that his and Lily's relationship is walking a tightrope; all Potter has to do is stand at the bottom with a net, ready to catch the spoils.  Severus can't stop Lily from straying - he can only trust that she won't.  Voicing any suspicion risks accidentally pushing her away; the grumpier he becomes, or the more possessive he becomes, the more he bolsters Potter's chances.   _Don't pick the scab, son_.  Worse still, he can't go over the top - he can't smother her, can't overwhelm her.  Doing too much would have the same result as doing too little.  It's a game - like Chicken or Coward - and all he has to do is steel himself and wait until the last possible moment before he makes a move.  Too soon, and he'll lose face, too late, and he'll get hit by the train.

It's simple, when he thinks about it logically - and he's good at logic.  Most Purebloods aren't; it's a Muggle thing, logic - puzzles and crosswords and conundrums.  But the problem is, when it comes to Lily, he doesn't think logically. When he sees her, it causes a rush of primal thrill, and he strains to keep it hidden.  He feels like he does when he remembers those nights at Spinner's End, with his parents in the next room - an uncomfortable surge of power and desire, of wanting to dominate and humiliate.  He feels like he does when he remembers the dog, its innards spilled on the dark ground and the knife gleaming in his bloodied hand, he the master of its life.  He let a little of his mask slip when the aurors were spying on them, listening in - testing how far he could go before she pulled away in disgust, and when she did nothing but trust him, opening herself to him, he found it harder than ever to put that dark side of himself back into its box.  

_Maybe she won't run_ , he thinks, in those darker moments.   _Maybe she wants this too_.  But once he's satisfied himself, and showered, and pulled on clean robes, he shakes the thought from his mind.   _Of course she doesn't want this.  She's a good girl_.   _A nice girl_.  So he pulls himself together, and he strains to be the boy he should've been - the boy he could've been if it wasn't for that blasted wolf, or his damned parents.   _You were doing so well_ , he thinks, _put these thoughts back in the shadows where they belong.  Be the boy next door.  Be her best friend.  Be the man she deserves._

_Potter has caused this_ , he thinks, as he heaps his fork with baked beans and shovels them into his mouth, his dark eyes watching as she moves through the flat, her hair wild from sleep and her dressing robe untied, revealing her smooth skin.  His eyes trace a heated trail from her breasts to her navel, and not for the first time, he fantasises about her carrying his child.

It's yet another nonsense fantasy, he knows that.  They can't afford a child; they're not ready for a child.  He's not ready to be a father - not patient enough, not kind enough - and she's at risk with the everchanging laws.  It'd be their luck that she'd conceive and their relationship would be outlawed, their child excommunicated from the magical world, or taken from them, or…

He lets the thought go - a baby is not logical, after all - but the primal thrum still resonates around his body.  Logic doesn't stop him from wanting her ripe with his seed; a declaration to the world that she's chosen him.

"What?" she says, a little self-consciously, pulling her robe tight and knotting it.

"Nothing," he mumbles, his mouth full of beans, and he scrapes the plate loudly with his fork.

"You were staring."

"I just fancy you," he deflects, a pink flush appearing on his cheeks, "it's not a crime, is it?"

She looks pleased at his proclamation.  "Not yet," she says, kissing him, and tangling her fingers in his hair, and even though it'll make him late for work, he pulls her over to the sofa and forces himself to forget that he witnessed her taking her Muggle oral contraception an hour or so earlier, desperate to play out the fantasy of her growing his child within her womb.

_Don't hurt her_ , he thinks, _she's chosen you_ \- and although the primal scream yells through his brain, begging him to unleash, her love for him is enough to dampen the shriek.  He braces his hands either side of her head, forcing himself not to grab her wrists, not to pin her down, not to claim her as his own.   _Gentle_ , he thinks.  He ignores the voice that begs him to push further, harder, faster and he falls into their comfortable rhythm of gentle lovemaking.

_I am not my father_.


	30. Out of the box

When he gets home from work, he notices that she's quieter than usual, and he figures that this latest arrest has finally knocked the fight from her; it's certainly knocked him for six.  The evening edition of the Prophet is a miserable read for anyone affiliated with...he still can't bring himself to say the hated word, although he knows Lucius is right - his one wizard crusade to retain _Muggleborn_ is on a hiding to nothing, and most likely, will simply out him as one of those wizards who can't be trusted.  The last thing that either of them need - him or her - is unwarranted focus from the aurors.  He needs to practice saying it in a mirror so he doesn't flinch when the slur leaves his lips.   _Mudblood_.

He doesn't push her to talk - it seems facile to talk about the weather or the radio when the papers are full of witches and wizards who are being stripped of their wands.

"It's bad, isn't it?" she ventures, as his frown deepens whilst he's reading.

He can't lie to her.  There's no point.  "It's not great, love."

"Do you think…" - and then she falters, and he doesn't miss the water at the edge of her eye, "...do you think we'll be next?"

"They're traitors," he says, folding the paper over and tucking it under his arm.  He doesn't want her to read it - he can't see the point in her dwelling on the hateful words.

"They're not!"

"I know they're not," he snaps, "but that's what they're saying.  They're traitors, and we're not.  So we've got nothing to worry about."  And then a horrible thought crosses his mind and he glances at his girlfriend.  "Unless you've got something you need to share?"

"Of course not."

"You said that," he says, with a tight smirk to show that he's not as annoyed as his accusation sounds, "as if you hadn't joined Albus Dumbledore's vigilante group."

"Says ye, the Dark Lord's brewer."

"Maybe I'll get a Ministry commission," he grins, pulling his boots on.  "By order to the Dark Lord."

She laughs, but it's more hollow sounding than normal, and he knows she's not quite over the shock of his potions having landed in the lap of the Death Eaters.  It bothers him too - he'd never really thought about it before; he loves brewing, and he does whatever Lucius Malfoy wants, and somehow, he hadn't really thought the whole process through.  He shakes the thought from his head - it's not helpful; he's a dealer - he brews, he sells, and if his buyer sells his goods on, then what's it to him?  He has to tell himself that, else he wouldn't sleep at night - not with the sheer number of vials of Polyjuice that he's been brewing.  It simply doesn't bear thinking about.

"What do you reckon they had on them?" she asks, as he stands to leave.  "What made them stand out as traitors?"

He chews his lip, and pulls the paper back out again, casting his finger across the list of names.  "They're all…" - and he still can't say the word, so he coughs, "...you know, like you."  There's nothing else obvious, so he flicks a few pages over until he reaches the gossip column, because although he holds no love for Skeeter, she hasn't let the change in Prophet personnel stop her from spreading her usual brand of rumour and innuendo.  He quickly reads it, and then turns the page to Lily, pointing out a paragraph halfway down: _The Ministry must surely be rejoicing at its good fortune, for each of the condemned traitors were coincidentally due to stand trial later this year for their part in the protest last month.  Keen readers will recall our questions about how much the trial of forty-seven witches and wizards would cost, and it seems that the Ministry has neatly sidestepped such expenditures._

"They're all part of the Fearless Fifty," she gasps.

"Mmm," Severus agrees, taking the paper back from her and folding it over again - he has no intention of letting her dwell on the dark news.

"Then it's a fix!"

"Of course it's a fix," he says.  "It's all a fix, Lil.  Which is why I keep saying to you - keep your head down, and your mouth shut, and let's hope that I've got enough magical blood for the both of us."  And then he kisses her, trying to show her how much she means to him - and he knows the message has reached her, because she wraps her arms around his shoulders, and kisses him like it's their very first night together, and he's so surprised at her heated reaction, he drops the newspaper on the floor.

* * *

It makes him late for his meeting.  He laughs to himself - if anyone in his sorry life would forgive him for being late because he'd spent the last hour with Lily Evans wrapped around him, it was Horace Slughorn, but even Severus wasn't cheeky enough to tell his old Housemaster the truth.  Instead, he makes up some lame excuse about his cauldron boiling over.

"Ah yes," says Slughorn, welcoming him into the school laboratory.  "I can imagine that such a young, vibrant cauldron bubbles over fairly often?"  And Severus freezes at being caught out, but Slughorn merely laughs heartily, clapping him on the shoulder.  "Come now, Severus," he says, jovially, welcoming him past the line of benches and cauldrons and into the Slytherin Housemaster's private study, "we're all men together now."  He pours a generous measure of firewhisky into a glass, and hands it to his young protégé.

"Are you not partaking, sir?"

"I have rounds," Slughorn says, seating himself heavily in an armchair, and motions for Severus to join him in the seat opposite, "but my favourite part of visiting my old schoolmaster was always sampling his finest wares.  An apprentice wage does not stretch far, after all."  He gives Severus a knowing wink.  "I see no reason to break with tradition."

"Thank you, sir," Severus says, before sipping, and allowing the alcohol to bloom in his mouth.

"And how is Arsenius?"

"He's his usual happy self, sir."

Slughorn grins at his old student.  "And you, Severus, are you keeping your head down this time?"

"Yes, sir.  I've learnt my lesson, sir."

"Not too well," Slughorn says, sharply, "I hope."

"Sir?"

"...Libatius sold you down the river," Slughorn says, softly, glancing around the room.  "Arsenius knows it, and I know it."  He peers at the young man before him. "And I know you know it."

"...sir."

"He's been rather stupid," Slughorn suddenly says, his voice hardening.  "Letting a boy of your calibre out from under him." He pauses then, considering, and then he tips his head.  "I would've taken you, Severus."

"At Hogwarts?"  He can't keep the incredulous note from his voice.  "To teach?"

Slughorn waves his hand.  "Teaching is nothing.  You'd cope."

And he thinks about the kids he went to school with - the students who didn't study, who didn't pick up a book.  He thinks about the ones who blew up a cauldron as soon as look at it, and the fights in the corridors, and the pressures of being a Housemaster, of the responsibility of being the man that so many would look up to.  "I don't think I have the skill set, sir."

"Nonsense," Slughorn dismisses his concerns with a flick of his moustache.  "A fully kitted out laboratory, a large budget for ingredients, and the most precious thing of all, Severus - _time_."

And he opens his mouth to protest, but then he realises it's true - he thinks of the occasional visit he'd made to Sluggy's lair, and how his Housemaster was always brewing or preparing ingredients - and now that he's spent so many hours under Jigger's watch, he knows how convenient it is to be able to brew all hours of the day, or to leave a potion simmering for its full duration, instead of using time turners or charms.

"But alas," he continues, "I could not convince Albus that I required an apprentice in this cycle."

"And you'd have chosen me, sir?"

And then it's Slughorn's turn to colour slightly, and cough.  "Well, certainly, Severus.  You or the delightful Miss Evans, of course."

"She can't work, sir."

"No, so I have heard."  And then he peers at Severus, his eyes hard.  "I have heard that you didn't sign her exemption papers."

"I couldn't, sir."

"I've heard that too."  Slughorn looks disappointed.  "I thought better of you, Severus - such lies will catch up with you."

Severus looks confused now.   _Lies?_   "I thought you understood what happened with Master Borage, sir?"

Slughorn leans forward, his pudgy elbows resting on his knees.  "I do, but I do not see the relevancy of that sorry incident, and you misleading your young lady."

"I didn't mean to," he argues hotly, his manners suddenly forgotten, "I signed her exemption form, but it was rejected!"

"Rejected?"  Slughorn's frown deepens.  "But your mother is Pure - I taught her myself!"

"It wasn't a problem with my heritage," Severus says, softly.  "The problem was the deal I signed with Borage when he released me from my apprenticeship."  At Slughorn's blank look, he elaborates.  "The admission of guilt."

Slughorn gives a derisive snort.  "Admission of guilt," he scoffs.  "You and I both know that you had nothing to do with those deaths.  Borage was out of his depth, cut a few corners with his remedies, and you - the unknown apprentice brewer - took the fall."

"I'm glad someone believes me, sir."

"But you signed a form to say otherwise, I take it?"

"I had no choice.  It was the deal, or to take my chances in front of a full jury.  With Master Borage's testimony against me, I'd have gone to Azkaban for sure, and then what would've happened to Lily?"  Severus looks astonished at Slughorn's surprise.  "I'm sorry, sir. I thought you knew, sir."

"If only I did," Slughorn says, thoughtfully.  "If only I did."

"And you can only apply for an exemption once a year.  I should've explained it to her properly, but I didn't see the point in raising her hopes, only to have to tell her that I'd ruined it by rushing ahead and not thinking."  He looks abashed.  "I thought it was better she didn't know at all.  I should've come to you first, sir.  I just didn't think that they'd reject the application.  I didn't think they'd be so strict."

Slughorn looks wary.  "I don't think anyone of us truly understands the rules, Severus.  I suspect that on a different day, with your papers reaching a different official, your story could've been very different."  He shrugs.  "Happens all of the time.  It's like having an essay marked at school - if your teacher's in a good mood, you might get a few marks here, a few marks there.  If your teacher is not so benevolent…"

"I understand, sir."  And he did - but the analogy felt poor; this wasn't an essay or an exam - this was Lily's livelihood, and their life together.  If she could've carried on working, he wouldn't have been forced to take extra hours at the Broomsticks, and she wouldn't have joined the Order, and she wouldn't have made friends with Potter, and she wouldn't have brewed the Wolfsbane and…  He looks up sharply, realising his thoughts have run away with him, and Slughorn is staring at him with a curious expression.  "Sir?"

"Tell me, Severus," he says, not unkindly, "for whilst your company is not unwelcome, the hour is late, and my rounds are due - what caused you to seek my companionship this evening?"

* * *

When the house elf flings the doors open, he stands, his blond hair gleaming in the light cast from the fire - and when he sees the woman before him, he smiles.

"Do you have a moment?"

"Of course," Lucius says, dismissing the elf with a flick of his hand, and ushering the witch into his study.  "For you, Miss Evans," he says smoothly, "I have all of the time in the world."  

* * *

"Do you remember, sir," he says, willing his face not to flush.  "When I was having some trouble, back in my OWL year?"

Slughorn looks thoughtful, and Severus is hit with the sudden realisation that although his problems felt overwhelming, they were but a minor footnote to those around him - a brief meeting here, or a mentoring session there.  "Ahhh..."

"With the nightm...dreams, sir," he presses.  "About the-"

And then Slughorn clearly does remember - who could forget a boy transforming into a werewolf - and he shuffles awkwardly, straightening his jacket.  "I hope this isn't about Belby, Severus."  He gives the young man a hard stare.  "That potion isn't for amateurs."

"I'm not-" he starts, and then catches himself, remembering his place.  "No, sir.  It's not that.  It's just…"  He takes a deep breath.  "When I came to you, sir, and I said I was having trouble sleeping - that I had some memories that were bothering me."  He looks Slughorn square in the eye.  "You taught me how to put it in a box, sir, do you remember?"

"Yes."

"I was wondering, sir, if there was a limit?"

"A limit?"

"To how many things you could put in the box," he says.  "Because I think things are starting to leak out."

Slughorn sits back in his chair, a frown creeping across his face.  "It was a long shot when we tried it," he admits.  "It's an old technique, and I don't fully understand it myself."

"Is there anything I could read, sir?"

"You say the memories are leaking out of the box?"  He gives Severus another hard stare.  "Just how many memories are in the box?"

 _Too many.  The wolf.  The dog.  The punishment.  The incident by the lake.  The encounter in Hogsmeade.  His parents having sex - more than once.  The Dark Lord._ It was the Dark Lord that started all this off, he realises - that dragging his father's punishment out of the box had somehow prised off the lid, and left all of his other carefully hidden secrets spilling over the floor, and try as he might, he couldn't jam the lid back on.

"I'm not sure, sir," he lies.  "But one came loose, and the rest just...tumbled."

At this Slughorn stands.  "Interesting, interesting," and he runs his finger along a line of books before plucking one off the shelf and flicking through it.  "This is the technique," he says, passing over the tome, "although I claim to be no expert.  I use it sparingly - only for keeping stressful thoughts at bay.  Stress dreams are a..."  And then he tails off, as if realising the stark implication of the conversation; that he uses the technique occasionally and successfully, whilst the young boy before him is cramming half of his life into a hidden container, pressing so much in, it bulges at the edges and then buckles.

Severus stares at the chapter title in front of him.  "I've never even heard of this.  It's not taught at Hogwarts, is it, sir?"

"No.  Never, to my knowledge.  I'd wager that only a few pureblood families even know what it is," Slughorn says, almost dismissively.  "The arts of the mind fell out of favour many decades ago."

"Can I borrow this, sir?"

"Of course, Severus.  That's why I gave it to you," Slughorn says, checking his watch.  "And now, I must away to rounds.  Do return it in person when you've finished - I look forward to hearing about how you've mastered the lost art of Occlumency."


	31. Be my guest

He props the book up against his mug of tea, and carefully dips the tip of his quill into his ink pot.  With a flourish, he swipes the quill across the blank parchment, line after line, until a perfect three dimensional cube sits on the page.  He remembers this part from last time.

_"What does the box look like, Severus?"_

_"I don't know, sir."_

_"You must know!  Close your eyes," Slughorn commanded, "and think of a box.  Is it made of paper or card?  Or is it wooden?  Are the corners reinforced with tape, or metal?  Is there a lock?  Can it fit beneath your bed, or do you hide it in the wardrobe?"_

He hadn't really taken it seriously at the time.  A box is a box.  But now, with his box leaking his precious memories, he realises the importance of a carefully crafted image, and with a final glance at the instructions in the book, he draws another cube on the page.  Then another, and another, and another, his quill slashing broad strokes across the parchment - and he doesn't stop until the page is full of scribbled boxes; some neatly drawn, and others with broad lines that don't quite meet at the edges.  Some have clasps, and some bear key locks, whilst others have combination locks fixing them shut.  Some are big and some are small, and then he sees the one that he wants, and he turns the page and transfers it to a brand new sheet, drawing the edges with bold definition.

* * *

For all of his numerous faults, Lucius is nothing but a gracious host.  He stokes the fire, and offers his best chair, and when she declines his offer of expensive alcohol, he commands a house elf to bring an array of refreshing fruit drinks - rosehip cordial, lemon and lime tonic, raspberry tea and something she can't make out by smell alone - elderflower and rhubarb and...ginger?  She wrinkles her nose, and puts the glass down; she hasn't visited the manor to sample Malfoy's delights.

He doesn't push her to speak.  Instead, he sits in the chair next to hers, one foot on the floor and his other resting on his knee, his manner almost casual - as if she were an old friend - and waits.  

"I believe you've been telling tales about me," she says.

"I could suggest the same."

She scoffs.  "Hardly."

"No?"  His eyebrows raise, and a slow smirk spreads across his face.  "The last I heard, you were confessing to being my loyal illegal brewer."  She doesn't respond, and he puts his foot to the floor, leaning more eagerly towards her.  "No?  No longer?  Have you since relinquished your claim to such a role?"

"You sold me down the river."

He shrugs.  "I do not recall holding a wand to your head, and forcing you to agree to my accusation."  He watches as her hands grip the arms of the chair, and he has to fight not to reveal his triumph at her discomfort.  "Surely," he continues, unable to resist provoking her, "you could have put the record straight?  Corrected the mistaken aurors?  Proven to them that you'd never been here, never corresponded with me, never spoken to me?"

"You were protecting Severus."  Her accusation is swift, and almost catches him off guard.

"I was protecting _myself_."

"By protecting Severus."  She stares at him evenly, her jaw tilted slightly upwards in defiance.

"Perhaps."

"Then I was doing the same."  

At this, he smiles.

* * *

He sips his tea, and reads the passage over and over, determined not to rush - not to miss a step.  He knows now why his original box failed - on reading the chapters fully, it's clear that Slughorn had helped him to contain one memory, but by cramming the same weakly defined box with thoughts and feelings he didn't want to experience, he'd exhausted the limits of his magic.

The revelation had surprised him - it wasn't another box that was required, as he had assumed - he simply needed to package his thoughts carefully and neatly into the space.

He hadn't done that previously - he'd simply grabbed onto his thoughts, just as Slughorn had taught him, and yanked the lid off the box before thrusting the memories in, and thumping the lid tightly on again.  When the Dark Lord had forced him to reveal _that_ memory, he'd yanked the box open and tugged at the thread, but all of the other memories were tangled amongst it, and they'd spilled free.

_Concentrate on each thought, from start to finish.  Relive every moment - every sight, every smell, every sound.  Remember how the experience feels, how the emotion builds inside of you, and then play it over and over and over.  When you have successfully isolated the memory - when you think of it and your brain does not drift to other thoughts - then imagine placing your wand to your temple, and drawing the memory from your brain.  It will spill from your mind like a colourful gas, pulsating and living, and then imagine holding a vial and twisting your wand until the memory spirals into the glass container. Cap it, label it, and place it carefully in your newly created box.  You can now rest, safe in the knowledge that this memory is under your control.  It is now only accessible to you, and as it is neatly labelled, you will not wonder at its contents and open it by mistake._

He winces to think of his previous box, with its mixed slurry of memories, all fighting against each other - the box rattling and thumping in his mind, as if the thoughts wanted to return to their rightful place in his memory - and then he closes his eyes, and imagines his brand new box, empty and ready to be filled.

* * *

"Why me?"

Lucius shrugs.  "Whyever not?"

"A Muggleborn brewing for a Pureblood?"  

She waits for him to correct her terminology, but he simply waves his hand.  

"Well?" she presses.  "You don't think that's unconvincing?"

"The aurors evidently didn't.  A skilled-" and the admission seems almost torn from him, "-Mudblood with no other options but to brew for a rich Pureblood seemed rather more believable than an untalented Pureblood brewing for _me_.  Who would you have preferred I said?  Rosier?  Nott?  Mulciber?  Avery?"  He tosses his hair.  "Ridiculous.  No, no, you were far more convenient."

"Then why not Severus?"  Her eyes narrow.  "Why not let him take the fall?  He's far more believable than I am - a poor Halfblood, and a disgraced apprentice brewer.  He has pure heritage, and he's an old housemate."  She stares at him.  "...you realised his record would condemn him, didn't you?  I would escape unscathed from such an accusation, whilst he would be sent to Azkaban?"

"And have you?" he enquires mildly.  "Escaped unscathed?"

"Not exactly."

"Well then," he says, with a look of derision, "it seems to me that I made the right choice."

* * *

He groans, and drags himself to the shower, forcing himself under the cold spray.  The book is much more thorough in its teachings than Slughorn ever was - previously, it was enough to simply recollect the key points of the event, and then to jam them into the box, but tonight's method is far more involved and much more distressing, and he's not got nearly as far as he had hoped.

He runs shampoo through his hair, and then grabs the soap, rubbing it across his prickling skin as if scrubbing his body raw will be enough to block his emotions.  He can see now that his earlier efforts weren't enough.  Now that he's gone through the process properly, it's no wonder that he could wrench the previously locked away memory to the tip of his mind with such ease - it was as if he'd simply kicked it into the corner and thrown a moth-eaten blanket over it.  He thrusts his hair under the spray, scrubbing painfully at his scalp, trying to rinse the unease from his brain.  It's no wonder that he still feels blistering hatred for Potter each time he claps eyes on him, no wonder that he's sent spiralling back to those hidden muddled sexual desires each time the sun beats down, no wonder that he's terrified of wolves and dogs and anything else with bared teeth and drooling lips.

One.  For all his efforts, that's all he's managed.  One lousy memory, capped and labelled and secured in the box.  One foul werewolf safely restrained.

* * *

"If you did not escape unscathed, and yet you are sat here…"  He eyes her curiously.  "They offered you a deal, didn't they?"

"Yes."

He clucks his tongue against his teeth.  "And that's why you're here?"

"I need your help."

"You don't need me," he argues.  "Make it up.  Tell them whatever they want to hear."

She shakes her head.  "They'll know."

"And then what?"  He shrugs, his palms tipped upwards.  "They'll condemn you?  Revoke your papers?  Strip you of your magic and send you back to the Muggle world?"  He looks unconcerned.  "It is of no consequence to me."

"It is of consequence to Severus."

"Tell me," he hisses, "is it of consequence to Severus, or is it of consequence to _James Potter_?"  He sits back triumphantly.  "Because Potter's whore is of no consequence to either of us."

* * *

When the elf answers and leads him through the hallways, he's surprised to be deposited in the drawing room instead of in Malfoy's study.  Narcissa looks up, and gives him a genuine smile before gently touching his clean hair and his tailored robes.  "Ermine lined?"

"Fake," he admits, but he's gratified at her approving nod.

"I'm pleased that my recommendation of Twilfitt and Tattings did not go unheeded."

He pulls at the sleeves, a little uncomfortable under her unflinching gaze.  "I always appreciate your recommendations, Cissy."

"I take it by your surprised expression, you were seeking Lucius?"

"Not exactly," he says, shaking his head when she wordlessly invites him to join her and be seated.  "No, I'm not staying."

"Shame."  

There's a long pause - he likes Narcissa, perhaps a little too much, and he knows she knows it - and he has to force himself to glance up at the chandelier so his gaze doesn't linger too long on her pale skinned beauty.  

"So, Severus," she says, "if you are not looking for Lucius, and yet you are not staying, how may I be of assistance to you?"

* * *

Severus had told him repeatedly that her anger was legendary, but Lucius had no reason to believe it - not until she flicked her wand, and the jug full of lemon and lime tonic was hurled into his face, the charmed icecubes clattering on the polished floor.  He shook his hair angrily, casting in quick succession - binding her arms to her side, clearing the mess from the floor, and finally summoning a damp towel to wash away the sticky liquid from his skin.

"You're a little hellcat, aren't you?" he murmurs, twisting his wand in his hand and forcing her to kneel.

"Don't!"

"Don't what?" he spits, towering above her.

She glares at him, her arms pinned, and her nostrils flared.  "Let me go."

"Don't let you go?"  He smiles now, his eyes glinting at her distress.  "Why, who'd have thought-"

"You think you're clever, Malfoy-"

"It's a clever diversionary tactic," he interrupts, slowly circling her, "throwing things in a temper, but it hasn't gone unnoticed that you haven't denied my accusation.  Potter's _whore_ ," he enunciates.

"I haven't done anything with Potter," she says, quickly.

"Really?"  He brushes her hair to one side with his wand, and leans down, his breath hot on her now exposed neck.  "I don't believe you."

"Severus believes me."

Lucius stands back up, a little straighter, and sniffs dismissively.  "Severus is not a worldly man.  He is...still a boy."  He circles her again.  "I know what you want.  I know what you crave."  And this time, he pauses before her.  "Severus can't give it to you, and neither can Potter.  Silencio!"  

He casts, and her voice disappears, and he suddenly tosses his wand to the floor behind him.  He takes a step closer to her, and runs both of his hands through her hair, his touch certain and powerful - and if the fingertips caressing her scalp were the potion stained digits of her lover, her heart would be hammering in exactly the same manner, but for very different reasons.  

"But _I_ am a worldly man," Lucius drawls, moving even closer, "and I assure you that I can."

* * *

Severus laughs as he strolls down the corridor, three thick tomes from the private Malfoy library tucked under his arm, and nods his gratitude once more to Narcissa.  "I do appreciate all that you do for me," he says.

"Nonsense," she answers, waving him through the double doors.  "You're always welcome here, Severus.  I know Lucius sees you as practically family and-" - and she gives him _that_ smile, the one which he first noticed at the end of his second year, and still makes his stomach flip over - "-you know how fond of you I am," she finishes, gripping his bicep through his robes.

He smiles tightly in response, and then points awkwardly to the top of the corridor.  "Did you say he was with Avery?"

Narcissa shrugs lightly.  "Dobby merely said he had a visitor, and I didn't care to enquire further."  She rolls her eyes.  "It'll be one of those terribly dull boys you roomed with.  Yes, Avery or-"  

"Mulciber?"

"No, it'll be Rabastan," she says, all of a sudden.  "Bella did say he'd be coming over."

"Bast?"  Severus looks eager.  "Right, I'll just nip in and say hello.  Be friendly."

Narcissa smiles that same smile.  "Yes, be my guest.  It's always wonderful to see you being friendly, Severus."

* * *

Severus knocks, but it's barely even a courtesy, because he immediately pushes open the heavy study door without waiting to be invited.  He grins broadly, expecting to be greeted by the sight of Lucius and Rabastan and Lucius' best bottle of firewhisky - but instead, he falters, and his hand grips the door handle more tightly as he takes in the scene before him; of his best friend's hands tangled in the hair of a woman kneeling before him - a woman who isn't Narcissa.

"Severus-"

And at the mention of his name, the stilled woman pulls her head away from Lucius' hands, and turns.  Her movements are awkward, as if her body is bound, and then her eyes meet his, and he freezes.

"Oh," he says.  His voice betrays no emotion, but he slams the door loudly, causing the paintings on the wall to quiver, and then he turns his back and dumps his carefully collected books onto Lucius' desk.

"Severus-" Lucius tries again, but Severus shakes his head and straightens his robes and lets out a loud exhale before he turns to face his friend.

"Tell me, is this a private party, Malf?" he says coolly, stalking quickly across the wooden floor.  He stands shoulder to shoulder with Lucius, and reaches down, twisting Lily's hair in his right hand, his dark eyes meeting her green ones.  "Or can anyone join in?"

"Be my guest," Lucius says softly.

And then Severus clenches his fingers together and pulls at Lily's gripped locks in a manner that he knows will be painful, and he's gratified when her eyes fill with tears.


	32. How naive

He's angry.  He's angrier still when her tears fall faster, the translucent liquid silently streaming down her cheeks and leaving trails of dark mascara in their wake, and he shows no mercy, twisting his fingers even more tightly in her hair, and yanking her to her feet.

"We both thank you for your hospitality, Malf, but I think we'll be going," he murmurs softly, his eyes hard and not leaving her gaze - and then she gasps loudly, as if she's emerged from being underwater, and then, her breathing still laboured, her arms suddenly flail wildly at her sides.  At her abrupt change in actions, Severus finally relinquishes his hold on her hair, and turns to look back at Lucius, who is rolling his cane between his hands.

"Of course, Severus.  Miss Evans.  Do call again."

She shivers involuntarily, but Severus' hand is quick to rest on his girlfriend's shoulder.

"Come," he says, bustling her from the room, summoning the previously discarded books as he leaves.

"Owl me, Severus," Lucius calls as the door opens and then bangs shut, but Severus doesn't answer, and the older man is uncertain as to whether his words were even heard.

* * *

"Sev-"

"I know what you're going to say," he interrupts, propelling her down the richly decorated corridor, "and I'm not interested."

"Severus, please-"  

"Keep your mouth shut," he hisses, "although if this evening's anything to go by, I imagine that might be a little difficult for you."

* * *

"Fuck!" he yells, when they're finally both in the safety of their flat. "Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!"

"I swear, it wasn't what it looked like, I didn't say-"

"I know exactly what that was," he shouts, angrily ripping his boots off and tossing them across the flat at the now locked door.  They meet the wood with such force, they bounce back into the room, only barely missing her.  "Fucking Malfoy!"

She looks slightly shaken as she realises his anger is directed at someone other than her, and she grips the back of the sofa, not trusting her knees not to slump in relief.  "Sev, I didn't-"

"He forced you to the floor, didn't he?"  

She doesn't answer him, but sobs in earnest, her whole body shaking, and he thumps his fist against the table and then swipes across it, sending the parchment on it flying.  

"I'll fucking kill him.  I will.  I'll kill the bastard."

"I thought..." she trails off between sobs.  "What you said.  In the corridor."

"I didn't mean it," he spits.  "That Manor has walls with blasted ears - magical portraits and elves and who knows what else!"  

"He took me by surprise-"

"He's dangerous," Severus says, his fists clenched by his sides.  "You should never have been alone with him.  Narcissa didn't even know you were there.  What were you thinking?"

"I thought-"

"You didn't," Severus snaps.  "You didn't think at all."

"I did!" she screams, and her eyes are swollen and bloodshot, and hands are still shaking.  "I went there because of you."  He just stares at her, uncomprehending, so she elaborates, her voice wavering.  "They arrested me for being his brewer!  I went there to talk - to find out what he knew, to see if I could strike a deal!"

* * *

When she emerges from the bathroom, her face is blotchy and her eyes are red-rimmed, and he's sitting on the edge of the bed, his leg bouncing up and down.

He doesn't look at her; his gaze fixed on the floor.  "You okay?" he asks, his voice oddly soft.

"Yes," she says, but she's obviously not, and the wobble in her voice betrays her true feelings.

"Right," he says, and abruptly stands - still not looking in her direction - and summons his pillow from their bed.  "I'll only be out there.  Just shout if-"

Immediately, she reaches out and wraps her fingers around his wrist.  "Don't."

He looks confused, his neck jerking oddly, and he finally meets her eyes.  "Don't?  Don't what?"

"Don't leave me."

"I was only going to sleep on the sofa," he says, quietly.  "I thought you'd want to be alone.  I thought you'd have had enough of men-"

"I want you to hold me," she says, tears forming again at the edge of her vision, and he wraps his arms around her, pulling her to his slender chest.  "You're not him, Sev.  You're nothing like him."

* * *

He convinces her to take some Dreamless Sleep - one of his more potent versions, one of the ones he keeps for the nights when he's plagued by his memories - and although he closes his eyes and goes through the charade of their nighttime ritual, he doesn't succumb to slumber.  He doesn't tell her, but has no intention of sleeping; he needs to keep watch - he needs to protect her.

So when her breathing becomes steady, and her hold on him is somewhat loosened, he rolls over and sits up, and summons one of his newly acquired books.  He swishes his wand, moderating his Lumos so it's a weak light - enough to read by, but not so bright that it'll wake Lily - and he quietly reads through the night.

* * *

He looks shattered when she wakes from her potion-induced slumber, and she reaches for his hand.  

"You stayed up all night?"

He grunts, flipping a page over in the book that he's reading - and then it's as if he remembers the events of the evening before, and he tilts his head towards her, his gaze a little softer.  "Any plans for today?"

"No."

"I think we should visit your parents," he says.

"You look exhausted.  I think you should stay in bed, rather than being awkwardly polite to my mum and dad."  She shoots him a wary look.  "And it's Saturday - you know Petunia visits on a Saturday."

He grunts again.  "I don't have to stay.  I could just drop you off."

She sits up, suddenly concerned.  "Don't go to Malfoy's."

He sniffs.  "I have to."

"Not today, Sev.  Give it some time.  We need to talk."

"I want you out of the way," he says, ignoring her argument and throwing back the covers.  He stands, and glances at himself in the mirror, and then recoils, scratching his stubbly face.  "I'd better shave if we're going to Cokeworth."

"I'm not going-"

"You are," he says, sternly, calling to her as he strides into the bathroom.  "And I think you should pack a bag for a few days.  Lay low."

She shakes her head stubbornly, and then realises he can't see her reaction through walls.  "No, Sev.  I'm not staying there without you."

"You are, love," he says, moving back into the doorway, shaving cream lathered on his cheeks and chin.  "Because I can't protect you whilst I'm at work."

* * *

Her argument that she didn't need protecting fell on deaf ears, but in the end, she convinces him not to leave her straight away - and the two join her parents on a morning tour of endless DIY shops.  He yawns loudly, repeatedly, and her mother apologises profusely for dragging them from one side of town to the other.  At the third garden centre, Severus sits on a bench by a water fountain, and briefly closes his eyes.

"Is he sickening for something?" Rose whispers.  "He looks awfully pale, Lily."

"No," she says.  "He's just overworked."

This seems to satisfy her mother, who marches over to David, and although Lily can't hear the words as she stays seated next to Severus, she can see her mother's arms waving, and her father's shoulders slumping, and a few minutes later, they're all back in the car and heading for her parents' home.

Petunia arrives at 1pm, punctual as ever, and although Severus makes it through a polite light lunch without yawning too often, when Vernon starts making pointed comments about Severus' occupation and his lack of promotion, Lily takes her boyfriend firmly by his hand.  

"Do excuse us," she says, pulling Severus towards the stairs, and calling over her shoulder, "lovely to see you both!"  

"It's bloody not," Severus grumbles, and she gently slaps his arm in rebuke, her eyes full of mirth, but happy to be leaving Vernon's disparaging and condescending comments echoing behind them.  She leads Severus across her small bedroom, smiles as he carefully removes his boots, and they lie together in her single bed.  He sighs deeply as he pulls her to him, their arms and legs entwined, and she gently strokes his hair as he finally succumbs to sleep.  

* * *

There's a soft knock, and the door opens a slither, and then she can see her father's face poking around the door.  "Lils?"

"Come in," she whispers, beckoning her father in, "but keep quiet.  Sev's asleep."

"Your mother says he's not unwell," David whispers, appraising the sleeping figure of Severus, "but he looks-"

"He's just tired.  ...I got into some trouble.  He stayed up all night to look after me."

David is suddenly attentive, glancing at the magical equipment stashed in the corners of the room.  "Trouble?"

"Nothing that will follow us here."

"I don't care about that," he huffs.  "I care about my little girl."  And then he sniffs, and nods towards the sleeping young man that she's cradling in her arms.  "And that daft young lad she's fallen for."

* * *

When he wakes, she's asleep, and it's dark outside.  He glances at the flashing digital clock - it's just past midnight, and he untangles himself from her leaden limbs.  He shuffles awkwardly through the dark house, desperately trying not to wake anyone, and uses the loo, and washes his face, and when he returns to the bedroom, she's sitting upright.

"Sorry," he says. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"You're leaving."  It's not a question; she's already seen his boots on his feet, and he nods.  

"I need to have it out with him.  I thought he'd stopped doing this sort of shit."

"...what do you mean?"

"He gets a kick out of Imperiusing people.  He used to do it all of the time in the common room - he'd force the lower years to do his bidding."  He winces at her horrified look.  "It wasn't so bad.  Nothing horrific.  Just...power games, that's all."

"The lower years.  He used it on you?" she guesses.

He gives a stiff nod.  "He wouldn't now," he says, sliding his wand up and down his sleeve.  "He knows I can throw it off."  He pauses, thinking.  "I should show you."

"He didn't use it on me."

He looks at her oddly.  "He did!"

"Not Imperius," she says, and she looks drawn at the realisation that if Severus hadn't walked in, Lucius could've done worse if he'd chosen.  "It was a sticking spell - he held my arms to my sides, and then he quietened me.  Nothing illegal."

"And he lifted the spell when I grabbed you," he murmurs.  "I knew he'd done something, because I was trying to hurt you."  

She looks stricken, and he reaches for her.  

"Not to punish you," he says, quickly.  "I knew you wouldn't sit there in silence - and you moved oddly when you realised I'd walked in.  I figured something was amiss, so I did something awful to try and get a reaction from you - and when you were screaming but you weren't making a noise...that forced him to lift it."

"You think?"

"Yes.  He must've known I wasn't far from working it out."  He pauses, thinking.  "I wonder if he thinks he's got away with it.  ...he might think I was angry at you, and not him.  For cheating on me-"

"I didn't cheat-"

"I know," he says, sounding annoyed.  "I'm thinking through what he might say to me."

"Sev, don't go to him," she begs.  "He's not worth it."

"I want you to promise me that you'll stay here," he says, kneeling by the bed, and holding her hands.  "I need you to be safe."

"Stay with me.  Tonight, Sev, stay with me."

"I can't," he says, simply, and he kisses her fingertips.  "It'll look odd if I'm away from the flat and he goes over - and even odder if I don't contact him.  He'll know that I've sided with you if I don't get in touch."  He swallows hard.  "And as angry as I am, I need him," he mutters.  "He's got me strung up, Lil."

She gives him a tight smile.  "He'll explain his way out of it, I expect."

"Oh, I am sure.  But that doesn't mean I'll forgive him."  And this time, he brushes his lips against hers, before standing and heading to the door.

"Sev," she calls, and he stills.

"Yes, love?"

"Nothing happened," she says.  

At this he turns.  "What do you mean?"

"He was toying with me…  I think - like a game.  But he hadn't, when you walked in, he'd not...  It was just the spells."

"Good," he says.  "But I still might kill him."  

And then he's gone.

* * *

"I know you said to owl," Severus says, apologetically, "but…"

Lucius opens the door to his study widely, and welcomes him in.  "No explanation necessary."  He strides to the cabinet, and pours a hefty slug of firewhisky into two glasses, and passes one to Severus.  "I'm glad you came...I owe you an apology."

Severus takes the glass, and glances at Lucius, careful not to look him directly into the eye - not now he's studied his books so carefully.  "Oh?"

"I got a little carried away," he says, and to Severus' surprise, he looks sheepish.

"That's what you call 'a little carried away'?"

At this, Lucius smiles grimly.  "I am not going to pretend to be a saint, Severus."  He rolls his glass between his hands, taking a deep inhale of the smoky liquid.  "I thought it was over.  Between the two of you."

Severus scoffs.  "Really?"

"She's shagging Potter, isn't she?"  Lucius sips from his glass.  "I couldn't imagine you wanting to bury yourself where he'd already been."

The spark of anger rises up in Severus' chest, but he manages to hold it in, and he eyeballs his old friend.  "No, she hasn't.  Not with Potter.  Not with anyone else.  There's only ever been me."

At this, Lucius raises an amused eyebrow.  "Ah, now that _does_ explain a lot."

 _I am actually going to fucking kill him_ , Severus thinks, his temper flaring in his chest - and to his horror, Lucius laughs loudly.

"No no, Severus, you are not," he grins, and then he claps a hand on the younger man's shoulder.  "Don't look so shocked; we both know why you've borrowed those books of mine."  

Severus looks away, and Lucius laughs at his reaction.  

"Yes, it's a useful tool, Legilimency, Severus.  Rather a shame that it's such a lost art."

"You've got a fucking cheek," Severus spits, staring at the floor.  "After what you've done-"

"Enough!"  Lucius' cold tones reverberate around the room.  "I understand you're upset," he says, a little more softly, "but I won't accept impertinence from you in my own house."  

"You assaulted my girlfriend in your own house."

" _Nothing_ happened."

"But it _would've_ ," Severus argues hotly, now staring at the wall over Lucius' head, desperate to keep his gaze away from the older man.  

"Yes!  Yes, it would've," Lucius snaps, "but only because we both wanted it."

"No, she-"

"I suspect that you and I will utilise Legilimency for very different purposes," Lucius says, darkly.  "I am a cad, Severus.  A bounder.  I am not loyal to Narcissa, nor she to me," and he grabs Severus' chin, forcing him to look him in the eye, "as I suspect you well know.  ...yes," he drawls, triumphantly.  "Miss Evans has only ever been with you, but it's not quite true the other way around, is it?"

"I haven't fucked Narcissa."

He smirks.  "I didn't say you had."  He gives Severus an appraising look.  "My wife's an excellent kisser though, isn't she?"  He leans in, the firewhisky pungent on his breath.  "She was ever so disappointed that it didn't go further."

"Look, Malf-"

He sighs loudly.  "Come, Severus, my point is, we're all grown ups here.  I'm not a complete beast.  I thought Miss Evans was fair game now that she's shagging Potter-"

"She's not shagging Potter!"

"How was I to know?  Certainly looked that way to me when they both came to your flat hand-in-hand."

"They weren't hand-in-hand!"

Lucius shrugs.  "I merely thought she'd got a taste for better blood, for purebred stallions, I thought I was in with a cha-"

"Fuck you, Malf!"  

This time, Severus' fury spills over, and he flings his tumbler of firewhisky across the room, and it shatters into pieces when it meets the wall, causing Lucius to flinch.  

Then Lucius roughly grabs Severus' robes, and stares deeply into his eyes.  "Do you want to know the truth, hmm?" he hisses, spittle flicking from his teeth.  "I used Legilimency on her, Severus.  She _wanted_ that domination.  I thought I was giving her what she desired."  He stands up to his full height, and straightens his friend's now dishevelled robes.  "...apparently, I was wrong."

"You were!"

"Yes, I fucked up.  And I'm sorry."  He takes a deep breath.  "And if you bring her to me, I'll tell her it myself."  He stares at his old friend, his chest heaving.  "I realised I'd fucked up just as you walked in."

"Yeah, convenient that!"

"I didn't have any idea how naive she was!" he hisses.  "How naive you both are!  I thought she was playing along - I thought she'd played these games with you, and with Potter, and I thought she was getting off on it!  And then," and now he looks horribly guilty, "I looked into her eyes again and I realised that she didn't want me at all, but if it had been _you_ , she'd have carried on."

Severus looks stunned.  "She's never-"

"Never behaved like that with you?"  Lucius looks surprised.  "I swear to you on the Malfoy name, as soon as I realised, I was going to stop.  But don't take my word for it - you've got my books, Severus.  Have a look in her pretty little head.  I think you'll be surprised."  


	33. Seconded

There's sweat beading on his brow, and he desperately wants to brush it away, but neither of his hands are free and his wand is already engaged, pointing at the flame and carefully controlling the heat:  high, medium, high, medium, high, low, medium, low, high, low, high, low, medium.  He has repeated the same cycle eleven times so far, all whilst his other hand keeps stirring the contents of the cauldron to a steady beat of twenty clockwise swirls, followed by three anti-clockwise, eleven clockwise, two anti-clockwise, three clockwise, and one anti-clockwise - before starting the whole process over and over again.

He's been following the same set of commands for almost three and a half hours, and he's starting to wish he hadn't had that last cup of tea before he started.  His upper arms are burning from exertion, and the awkward stooping position he's found himself in is causing his lower back to ache - and just as he's about to raise the heat again for another run through, Jigger suddenly moves across the room and claps his hands firmly on both of Severus' shoulders, disrupting his rhythm.

"Master, I-"

"I've seen enough."

Severus watches helplessly as his Master casts the cauldron to the side, tipping its contents into the sink.  "I'm sorry, sir."

"You've done well, boy," Jigger says, his voice a little less sharper than usual, evidently realising his apprentice's distress.  "Both your concentration and composure of late have been far more in keeping with the standards expected."

"Thank you, sir."

"I stopped you because I'd seen enough."  He snaps his fingers, and a piece of parchment flies through the air.  "I wish for you to consider this, boy."

Severus wipes his hands on his robe, and lifts the parchment suspended before him.  "Seconded?"  He looks surprised.  "You're sending me to another Master?"  He stares at the parchment, unable to comprehend the situation - _Has Sluggy stopped passing Malfoy's money to Jigger?  Or has Malfoy stopped paying Sluggy altogether?_

"It is not a commentary on your work," Jigger drawls, leaning heavily against the bench.  "On the contrary, I rather feel that you will learn a lot under the tutelage of another."

"I appreciate the offer, sir," he says, quietly, trying not to let disappointment cross his face, "but I have already been disgraced once.  If I work under another Master-"

"-with my agreement," Jigger interrupts loudly.

"...even so, sir, I fear that some will believe you have sent me away for poor behaviour."

"Nonsense.  You'd still be _my_ apprentice."  At this, Severus gives a tight smile.   _He's going to keep taking Malfoy's money then._ Jigger gives him a curious look, oddly pleased at Severus' smiling reaction, and incorrectly assuming that Severus was proud to remain his apprentice.  When Jigger speaks, his tone is the kindest that Severus has ever heard.  "Boy, do you not know what seconded means?"

"Not really, sir."

"It means that you would be sent to work alongside other eminent potioneers - to learn your craft from them, as well as me."  He eyes him carefully.  "I dare say you learnt different techniques from me to Borage?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then you see the worth of working under another?"

"Yes, sir."  Severus glances at his feet.  "It's just, sir, I…"

"Spit it out, boy."

"...Borage didn't treat me well, sir.  Not like you, sir.  And if I upset another, sir, then-"

"Slughorn would be my first choice."

"Sorry, sir?"

"I'll send you to work beneath Slughorn.  At Hogwarts."  Jigger gives a slight smile.  "He's already asked."

"But Dumbledore-"

Jigger scoffs.  "Dumbledore only has the power to appoint his own staff.  The Ministry decides who can be taken as an apprentice, and whom by."  He shrugs.  "If I decide that working under Slughorn is what is required for your education, then the Ministry can sign off on the papers."  He pulls another piece of parchment out of the air. "In fact, you should find that they already have."

He knew Slughorn wanted him, but seeing it in black and white - or inky blue and a pale tan - makes his knees weaken slightly.  "But Dumbledore-"

Jigger stares at him evenly.  "Forget Dumbledore.  You should be thinking about Belby."

"Sir?"

"Are you deaf, boy?   _I_ may not have the connections to get you in with Belby, but Slughorn does.   _That_ is the goal.  Impress Slughorn, and you'll be seconded from Slughorn to Belby."

Severus' mouth gapes.  "Belby, sir? ...but he never takes an apprentice."

"Which is why you would be a fool to turn down such an offer."

* * *

"Don't - not whilst I'm brewing!"  

"Mmm?  Not even this?"  

She groans when his arms wrap around her torso, and his lips burn a hot trail up her neck to behind her ear.

"Sev!  You'd go mad if I did this whilst you were working!"  She grabs his hands and removes them from her waist, holding them out to the sides.  "Sit on the bed and behave, like you promised."

"I promised no such thing," he retorts, but he relinquishes his hold on her, and sits back on the bed.  His long legs stretch out on the mattress, and he crosses them at his ankles.  "Anyway, you haven't even started yet."

"And I wouldn't get started at all if it was up to you."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

Lily moves over him, her hands braced on the wall, and kisses him, pressing her tongue against his lips until he parts them and permits her entry.  He arches upwards as she deepens the kiss, his left hand reaching to cradle the back of her head, and then she pulls away.

"Lil…Lil...come back..."

"That's just a taste of the celebration we can have when I've finished," she says with a cheeky grin, and he can't help but laugh at how pleased she looks.

"You're a menace."  He eyes the cauldron on the floor and the magical fire that she's starting, "and a criminal."

Her eyes flicker with amusement as she sets out the ingredients on the dresser.  "So the Ministry believes.  And I figure I might as well be hung for a sheep as for a lamb."

His voice is slightly petulant when he responds.  "I'd rather you weren't hung at all."

There's a long pause, and she carefully wipes her silver knife before setting it next to her glass beakers, and then she walks back over to him and runs her fingers down his face.  "It's just a saying."

"...you shouldn't joke about it."  He groans.  "You shouldn't be doing this at all.  And I shouldn't be bloody letting you!"

" _Letting_ me?"

"You know what I mean."

"Yes," she says, coldly.  "I do.  But I haven't quite been reduced to the status of your household pet just yet, thank you, Severus.  I am capable of making my own decisions."

"I didn't mean-"

She leans down and picks up an armful of records, and unceremoniously dumps them onto his stomach, causing him to groan loudly.  

"Make yourself useful, at least," she says, "and put something decent on the player."  She flashes him a cheeky smile. "That way I don't have to put up with your griping."

"I don't gripe!"

"You do.   _Don't hold the knife like that.  Don't stir the cauldron with your left hand.  Don't pause when you're tipping bluebottle eyes into the mixt_ -"

"All right, I'll keep schtum."

"I've heard that before," she laughs.  "Just play something loud enough so nobody else can hear you moaning."

He raises an eyebrow and gives her a lewd smirk, and she shakes her head.  "What?" he says, feigning innocence.  "If they hear your record player going loudly, that's what they're going to think."  Then he shoots her a wicked smile.  "And if I get my way, it's what we _are_ going to be doing whilst that first stage is simmering."

"Sev!  My parents-"

"Are grown adults," he says, loftily.  "They must know we miss each other."

"Let me come home then."  

He doesn't answer, and she pauses, her breath catching in her chest, wondering if he'll relent.  

"...I miss you," she presses.

"I miss you too."  

"Then let me come home.  I don't have to do this."

"What about the wild wolf, eh?"  He waves his hand.  "You can't brew this at ours.  It's too risky."

"Since when have you cared about the wolf?"

He gives her a thin smile.  "We don't need any more enemies, Lil.  I don't much fancy waking up to find Black and Potter breaking in and holding me at wand point to wreak revenge."

She nods stiffly, but she can see in his eyes that it's not the idea of Black or Potter making their way into their flat in the dead of night that's bothering him.

* * *

As she stirs the potion, she watches him out of the corner of her eye.  Now that the interesting stages of the brew are over, his attention has waned and he's engrossed in one of Malfoy's books that he'd brought over the previous week.  

"I thought you'd already read them," she says.

"I have."

"Then why are you reading it again so avidly?"

He smiles.  "Checking that I've taken it all in," he says, tapping the side of his head.  "Not that it really matters - these ones are for you."

"Don't fancy yourself as a mindreader, then?"

"No."  He keeps the book open, and rests it on his chest, pages down.  "But it's important that you can do it."

"...because?"

He just grins, and picks the book up again - and for a moment, she wonders if Malfoy has told him about the spying, and if he's trying to help.  

_He can't have - Severus was carrying these books when he burst in on us.  Maybe that's how he can throw off Imperius and that's why she needs to learn it?  No, it can't be - he said he hadn't heard of Legilimency when he thought He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had used it on him._

She stirs the potion with deliberate movements and she eyes him curiously, watching his face for a clue of what he might mean, but his expression is completely blank.  

* * *

Severus waits patiently in the entrance hall of Hogwarts, nodding curtly as the Baron passes by and then ducking dramatically as Peeves rushes towards his head and then bursts into fits of laughter.

"Peeves!"  Professor McGonagall strides across the stone floor, dismissing the ghosts with a strong flick of her wand.  "Severus Snape."

"Professor."

"I believe you are to study beneath Horace?"

"Yes, professor."

"Then Minerva would be more suitable, Severus."

"Yes...Minerva."  The name feels odd on his tongue, and he glances at the floor, suddenly feeling embarrassed at the litany of names that had poured from his mouth about Lily's old Head of House whilst he was a student - none of which were complimentary.

She gives him a pinched smile, as if she can guess at his thoughts.  "He's currently teaching," she explains, waving him towards the steps down to the dungeons, "and I imagine his class has run over."

"Yes, pr- Minerva."  He walks a little faster to catch his old professor.  "I know the way to Professor Slughorn's classroom, I can-"

"-but still, you shall experience none of the delights of the classroom," she continues, not breaking stride and acting as if he hasn't spoken.  "It's been a long while since Hogwarts has had an apprentice who was not also an apprentice teacher."

"Yes."

They reach the door, and she stops, that same pinched smile on her face.  "Fancy Severus Snape being the first since 1758."  Her hand rests on the door handle, and until she moves - either to open the door and let him enter the classroom, or to sweep away, he can't move either.  "Do you recall the name of such a previous apprentice, Severus?"

"No, Minerva."

"He was a goblin," she says.

He stiffens.   _Is she slighting my Muggle father?_ He quickly racks his brain - _Minerva McGonagall presides over Gryffindor House, but what was her actual blood status?_ _She was always kind to Lily, but she wouldn't be the first to appear unprejudiced on the surface and then-_

"Between the rebellions," she explains further.  "Dilys Derwent has always been held in very high esteem by Albus."  And then without further ceremony, she pushes the door open and propels him in, and Severus finds himself standing in front of thirty sniggering teenagers.

"Bloody hell, it's _Snivellus_ Snape!"

"Apprentice Snape, to you, Westenberg," Professor McGonagall quickly rebukes.

"Yeah, they've sent him back to school after he killed all those people with his crappy potions," one boy in the back row shouts.

"Detention, Lockhart!"  Professor McGonagall snaps, and the laughter stops instantly.  "Anyone else have anything to say?  No?"  Nobody speaks, and Professor McGonagall nods in approval before pointing her wand at a spotty wizard in the second row.  "You, Jones, where is Professor Slughorn?"

"He went to his office thirty minutes ago," Jones starts, and Professor McGonagall's look of disapproval grows.

"Thirty minutes?"  She tuts loudly.  "You're dismissed, class.  Do wait here, Severus, I shall find Professor Slughorn." 

He nods, mutely, and forces himself to ignore the hissed commentary from the teenagers as they file past him and out of the dungeon - but as soon as they were through the door, the students' whispers erupt into unmistakable shouts.

_"Did he really kill a bunch of people?"_

_"Yeah, course he did!  Look at him!"_

_"My dad reckoned he should've got Azkaban for it."_

_"He looks like the sort of guy who'd deliberately put poison in your drink when you get up to dance."_

_"If you ask me, he looks like the sort of guy who'd slit your throat if you stared at him funny.  Like he tried to do to Black that time."_

_"I'd forgotten about that!  By the lake?"_

_"No, that was when Potter stripped him naked an-"_

_"Oh, that was so funny!"_

_"When did he slash up Black then?"_

_"Hogsmeade, wasn't it?"_

_"Yeah, don't you remember that they stopped all visits to Hogsmeade for weeks?"_

_"Look out, look out - he's peering round the door...he's staring right at you, Lockhart!"_

_"Shut up, Westenberg."_

_"No, seriously, I'd check your goblet in the Great Hall tonight!  You're for it, Locks."_

_"Don't worry, Locks.  I'll write to your mother and make sure she gives you a nice send-off."_

_"Yeah, what song do you want playing when they bring your coffin in?"_

He feels sick to his stomach, and is tempted to spin on his heel and head right back out of the front doors when he hears a loud crash, and Professor McGonagall's voice booming down the corridor.  

_"DETENTION, ALL OF YOU!  MY OFFICE AT SEVEN, AND DO NOT BE LATE!"_

And then, before he can make the decision to bolt back to the flat or even to Lily in Cokeworth, Professor McGonagall steps back around the door to the virtually empty classroom.  "Do go through to Horace's office, Severus," she says, kindly.  "And ignore those ridiculous boys.  I shall be having a strong word with them all."

He takes a deep breath, straightens his robes, and then - grateful that the corridor has now emptied - heads to Professor Slughorn's office.  

He pushes the door gently open.  "Master Slughorn," he starts, his head slightly bowed.

"Ah, Severus!  We were waiting for you!"

_We?_

"Come in now," Slughorn continues, "take a seat!"

Severus glances cautiously around the room, but he can only see Slughorn.  He shuts the door and sits, and then just as he opens his mouth to speak, another very familiar voice fills the room and a tall blond man steps out from the shadows.


	34. Precious ingredients

Lucius nods in appreciation as Slughorn pours out a measure of firewhisky into his still-quite-full glass, and then pours a fresh one for Severus.  "Thank you, Horace."

"You're quite welcome, Lucius.  In fact," and he pauses, staring at the small print on bottle, "I do believe this is one of your own?"  

Lucius gives a smug nod.

"So, Severus," Slughorn says, with a broad smile, "it seems we are indebted to Lucius here."

"Aren't we always?" mutters Severus, his voice barely above a whisper.  

Slughorn gives no sign of having heard his remark, but Lucius frowns deeply.

"Here we are," Slughorn says, passing a glass into Severus' hands.

"Thank you, Master."

"Ah, now," Slughorn says, settling himself in front of the fire.  "None of that, thank you, Severus.  No need to stand on parade in this study - after all, we've all known each other long enough."

Severus shoots a confused glance at Lucius, and clears his throat.  "But, the protocol, Master - the etiquette that-"

"What Horace means to say, Severus," Lucius swiftly interrupts, "is that he is not to be your new _Master_."

Severus stills, his fingers clenching his glass.  "But, Master Jigger said… My apprenticeship, I'm...I'm not close to being signed off - I need the papers and I need-"

"Severus, Severus," Lucius says, in his most patronising tone.  "Tell me, when have I ever let you down?"

"Do you want it in date order or alphabeti-"

"Oh ho!" laughs Slughorn loudly, completely unaware of Lucius' dark expression at Severus' biting retort.  "He is a one, Lucius!  Now, Severus, what Lucius means to say-"

"You're lucky I don't hex your bollocks off," Lucius hisses in Severus' ear as he moves past him, "pull your bloody head in."

"-is that you _won't_ be seconded under me.  No no, you have spent far too many years in my classroom already," and then he shoots an amused look towards the younger man, "blowing up my equipment and wasting my precious ingredients in the name of research and experimentation.  You've already completed eighteen months of full study, is it?"

"Sir."

Slughorn gives him a pointed look.  "Horace, Severus."

"Yes.  Eighteen months, Horace."

"And how many cauldrons have you blown up in that period?"  

Severus flushes.  "A few."

"A _few_?"

He flushes harder.  "Well...quite a few."

"I cannot recall the last time I blew up a cauldron," says Slughorn and Severus' shoulders stiffen, the insult piercing his core - but unlike Lucius' often pointed barbs, Slughorn doesn't seem to be seeking for a reaction.  Instead, Slughorn's watching the fire as he continues, "...I am not that sort of potioneer, as I am sure you have noticed. ...but _Belby_!  Now, he's very much like yourself, Severus."  

 _Not everything is an insult, Severus, you berk_ , Severus thinks as he realises now what Slughorn had meant.   _This is why Lucius encourages you to hold your tongue._

Slughorn takes a sip from his glass.  "Now, Belby is inventive.  Experimental.  Likes to push boundaries.  He's quite a rarity in the field; I'm afraid the rest of us are stuck in our old-fashioned ways."  He nods.  "Yes, Belby.  He'd be good for you."

"But Master Jigger has seconded me to you, si…   _Horace_.  He will suspect if-"

"Yes, yes, it's important to keep up appearances, even if it is merely Arsenius, the boffs in the Ministry, whoever," Slughorn waves his hand dismissively.  "So, I have prepared a few weeks of brewing for you.  Nothing that a wizard of your calibre will find particularly taxing.  The potions need brewing properly and with care - but otherwise, do treat it as a holiday.  Then, after a sufficient period of time has elapsed, you shall be seconded to Master Belby."  He takes another sip from his glass.  "Of course, whilst I am happy for you to be rather familiar with me between these walls, please do remember your place when you move across to Belby."

"Yes, Horace."

There's a long pause as the three men sip at their expensive drinks, and Severus glances from Lucius to Slughorn, back to Lucius again, and then stares at the floor.  Finally, he lifts his head.

"Whatever it is you want to ask, Severus," Lucius drawls, "do so.  You are acting like you are at Wimbledon."  He mimics Severus looking left and right and left and right.  "I am close to summoning a house elf to bring us strawberries."

Severus pointedly ignores him and looks straight at Slughorn.  " _Why_?  Why bother bringing me here?  Why didn't you arrange for me to be seconded straight out to Belby?"  He shoots a confused look at Slughorn.  "I understand the desire for a few weeks off from brewing for the hospital wing," he says, with a slight smile, "but surely a keen NEWT student could brew a Pepper Up potion if you could not spare the time?"

Slughorn laughs.  "I don't want you to brew for the hospital wing," he says, and then he looks thoughtful.  "Although it is a damn fine idea - I bet you've got amendments for all sorts of potions, haven't you?"

Severus groans.  "I don't want to brew Pepp-"

"You won't make a convincing apprentice to Belby with an attitude like that, Severus," Lucius smoothly admonishes.  "My, you've been in here twenty minutes, and you have already forgotten your place."

"Sorry, Horace," Severus says quickly, looking abashed.  "I'll brew whatever you require-"

"Of course, you won't have time to brew Pepper Up if you're going to brew for me," Lucius finishes.

"For _you_?   _Here_?  At Hogwarts?"  Severus turns to look at Lucius, his mouth slightly agape.  "Under Albus Dumbledore's nose?"

Lucius grins.  "A rather fine idea, if you ask me.  It's the last place that anyone would think to look.  I can't see Moody putting his grubby paws all over the castle - not on old Dumbledore's watch."  

Slughorn stands, suddenly looking uncomfortable.  "If that's settled, I'll show you to your laboratory and rooms."

"Rooms?"

"You can't stay in Hogsmeade and travel in," Slughorn says, as they make their way out of the study and down the corridor.  "It's not expected of any of the other members of staff."

Lucius nods in agreement.  "It'd look awfully odd.  Besides, that horrible poky little flat-"

"I like that flat!" Severus immediately argues.  " _Lily_ likes that flat."

"-has been compromised by the aurors.  You've had Moody in there.  Alastor Moody, Severus!  Crouch!  Bones!  Not to mention Potter and his ilk.  No, you're not staying there.  I want you well away from the lot of them."

They fall silent as they venture down a stone staircase that Severus has never seen before, despite his extensive exploration of the castle as a teenager.  Slughorn murmurs at a painting and the occupant nods and strides away.  Then with a wave of his wand, the frame expands, and transforms into a grand doorway.  Slughorn leans forward, throws the wooden door open and beams at the two younger wizards. "After you, boys."

Lucius nods to Severus, indicating that he should step in first, and when Severus enters the room, his jaw nearly drops.  The large laboratory is big enough for several to work in - just like the classrooms in the dungeons - and as finely stocked as Borage's was, with gleaming cauldrons and glinting utensils and beautifully conditioned benches.  

Lucius stands behind him, and claps a firm hand on his shoulder. "Do you like it?"

He steps forward and trails a finger across one of the benches.  "...yes. I do.  It's amazing, Malf.  Horace."

"Good!"  Lucius beams, and with a wave of his wand at another portrait, and a mumbled password that Severus can't quite make out, he leads him through to what will be his private rooms.  There's an office with a large desk and an even larger bookcase, and a separate sitting room with a settee and a single comfortable chair by the fire, and a wooden dining table and chairs in the corner.  He strolls through to the bedroom, and he's instantly transported back to his student days - the room is the same size as his teenage dormitory, but there's one much larger four poster bed in the room instead of five individual ones.  The green canopy with silver lining makes him smile, and he fingers the edge of the four poster bed's curtains.

"These'll have to be Transfigured," he says, lightly, "if we're moving in."

"Hmm?"

"The canopy.  Green and silver?  She'll have a fit - she doesn't even like it when I wear green socks," Severus grins.

"Oh yes," Lucius says, "I had almost forgotten to mention it."

"Mention what?"

"You need to break up with your girlfriend."

Severus turns to him, his expression horrified.  "You want me to _what_?"

"You heard," Lucius says, sounding almost bored.  "Drop her, dump her, bin her."  He shrugs.  "And Severus?  Do make it convincing.  Something public should do the trick."  He grins, and leans in to Severus' ear, speaking with a stage whisper.  "Tell her you fucked Cissy."

"For the last time, I haven't fucked Narcissa!"

"Details, details," Lucius says, his leering smile growing again.  "Of course, we could make it happen, if it would-"

"Malf!"

"...she's feisty, as we both know - if you told her that, I'm sure she's obliging enough to hex you in the face."

"Hex me in the _face_?"

"Yes, yes.  A fight in public should do it.  A shop, or that dreadful bar you work in, or...oh, I've got it!  The Ministry atrium-"

"No."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said, no.  I'm not breaking up with her."  Severus pulls himself up to his full height, and stares furiously at his old friend, his voice growing louder.  "And I'm certainly not telling her that I've shagged your wife!  I like the lab and the rooms, and I'm really very grateful to you and Sluggy - but I don't want any part of it."

"It is interesting to me that you have ceased to trust your old friend," Lucius drawls.  "Severus, whatever have I done to cause you to treat me with such disloyalty?"  

"It's not about me not trusting you - it's about the price being too high!  I'm not prepared to lose Lily."

Lucius looks annoyed.  "I have moved the earth for you here, Severus!"

"I didn't ask you to!"  Severus looks furious.  "And if you'd bothered to ask me, I could've saved you the hassle!"

Then, he feels an gentle brush across his mind - he's felt it before in Lucius' presence.  It's subtle, and not particularly powerful, but now that he knows exactly what it is, he immediately closes his eyes and grimaces as he imagines metal shutters - just like the ones that litter the town centre in Cokeworth of an evening - sliding down behind his eyes, blocking his brain from prying eyes.  Severus opens his eyes again, and this time when the brush comes, he can almost hear it thudding gently against the steel.

"Oh," Lucius whispers with a look of elation, "well done, Severus!"  

At this, Slughorn puts his head around the door.  "Ah Lucius, have you stopped teasing the boy and put him out of his misery?"  Slughorn smiles broadly, but now that Severus is concentrating hard on blocking Lucius, he can't force his face to respond in a natural way.  If Slughorn notices this, he doesn't comment, and carries on with enthusiasm.  "Now now, nobody expects you to break up with the lovely Lily, Severus."

Severus shoots a sceptical look at Lucius.  "No?"

"Perhaps I should've told you that your first task is to brew Polyjuice," Lucius smirks, "by the bucketful - just as you already do for that filthy brute Fletcher."  And he smiles, lifting a piece of Severus' hair with his cane. " _You_ are to be seconded to Belby.  But I rather think another Severus will be studying here at the same time.  Under Horace.  A Severus who perhaps presents a little more cauldron control, shall we say?"

" _Lily_?  Here?  Apprenticing?"

Slughorn grins broadly, his moustache almost quivering with excitement.  "It's a jolly good ruse, isn't it?  If she's broken up with you, nobody will suspect that she's at Hogwarts as well."  

Lucius leans in.  "Like I said, break up with her, and make it _good_.  Make it convincing.  Make the world think that there's no way you'd ever consider getting back together."

Severus pauses, thinking hard.  "...I understand.  But won't someone realise that I'm in two places at once?"

"With all due respect, Severus, I don't think anyone will be paying you sufficient attention," Slughorn says.

Severus looks incredulous.  "Lucius, you know I've been stalked by half of the auror department for the past few weeks, and Horace, you're well aware that I've spent most of my life avoiding being harrassed by Albus Dumbledore's band of Gryffindors.  Now I'm going to be living and working in his castle - only half of the time it's not actually going to be me - all whilst I'm sneaking out to work for the most famous potioneer of the moment?"  He stares from one man to the other, and then speaks very slowly and deliberately.  "And you both don't think anyone is going to notice?"

"We're not saying that you don't need to take care.  It's imperative that you aren't seen to be in two places at once, but Belby is a recluse," Slughorn says, dismissively.  "I shall keep Lily in these hidden rooms, and if you travel quickly and with caution, nobody will be any the wiser."

"Besides, you'll be rather more anonymous once you denounce your Mudblood," Lucius adds, ignoring Slughorn's wince at the term.  "Potter and Black will soon lose interest in you then."

"Me, perhaps," Severus agrees, "but Potter will be sniffing around Lily-"

"Not possible.  Miss Lily Evans is going to disappear from the wizarding world entirely."

"Malf, honestly!  Why on earth would she disappear?  Why wouldn't she keep the flat, and-"

"Miss Lily Evans can't keep the flat, because Miss Lily Evans is a nobody," Lucius says, firmly.  "I did not think I would need to explain this to you - I thought you of all people were well versed in the laws."

"I am."

"Good.  Besides, Miss Lily Evans is going on the run because I do believe the aurors have gained the impression that she's dealing in illegal potions."

Severus stares at him dumbly, and when he speaks, his voice is an octave higher than usual.  "The aurors have _gained_ the impression that she's dealing in illegal potions?  How do you know..."  Severus gives him a sudden dark look as the realisation dawns on him.  " _You_ told them that she was your brewer, didn't you?  Instead of me!"

Lucius laughs loudly.  "Don't put this all on me, Severus.  She corroborated the story!"

Severus' face flushes with fury.  "I don't bel-"

"Now now, boys," Slughorn says, ushering them out and walking ahead as he makes his way back towards his office.  "Never mind all of that.  All's well that ends, well, yes?"

"How is it going to end well if the aurors have testimony that Lily is brewing illegal potions?  They'll hunt her down and arrest her and send her to Azkaban, or break her wand, or...or..."  

"Or ask her to spy for them-"

"Yes, Malf, exactly!  They'll ask her to spy for…  Oh _fuck_!"  A deep chill runs down his chest, and he grasps for the wall.  "Fuck off, Malf.  You can't be serious."

"Calm down, Severus.  Really, such language - and in front of Horace here."

"But she can't, Malf!  She can't!  You can't let her be exposed to-"

"They've only asked her to spy on me," he says, calmly, "and I have no intention of letting Lily Evans spy on me for the aurors."

Severus stops and crouches down, exhaling loudly and his hands shaking.  Lucius glances at the departing figure of Slughorn who hasn't noticed that the pair have stopped.  Smoothly, Lucius pulls Severus to his feet and throws his arm around his shoulders. " _You_ however, Severus, are a very different matter entirely."

"Well, that's ridiculous!  The aurors aren't going to believe a word I say!"

"No.  You're quite right," Lucius nods, and propels them both towards the stone staircase.

"So what then?"

Lucius bounds up three steps and then turns, and taps his cane loudly on the wall.  "You're a clever boy, Severus.  Use your brain."  And he grins.  "Else I might just have to throw you over in favour of your delightful young lady after all."


	35. Two lovers who can't bear to be separated

It's boring, Cokeworth - even on the nicer side of town.  He's told her to lay low, which is ridiculous; Death Eaters are hardly likely to spring an attack on a dull old industrial area that nobody's ever heard of - not when there's London or Manchester or Birmingham to focus on - and as her dad has mumbled more than once whilst watching the news, _"Can't do much worse than what's already been done."_

If Sev was here, he'd laugh at that.  Laugh at the griping of a man who took early retirement, presented with his gold plated pension and a carriage clock and a firm warm handshake.  

He's still sprightly, her father - there's only a smattering of grey hairs around his temples, and his back doesn't ache, and his shoulders aren't stiff, and his knees don't creak when he gets out of the chair.  Working in an office for years means he's a little soft around the middle, but there's none of the erosion of his bones that comes from decades of manual labour.  Lily realises that since retirement, her parents are shorter on money than previously, but it's all relative.  After all, there's nothing on tick, the house is paid for, and the car is new, and both the kids have grown up and left home - even if her dad has been lining his youngest daughter's pockets to help out with her portion of the rent.

 _There's nothing to do when you're retired_ , she thinks, as she watches her parents drift aimlessly around their comfortable home - and feels a small pang that the only thing to keep them going might be an introduction to the next generation.  Her mother's keen to see grandchildren, she knows, and that brute Dursley is always yawping about a dynasty, but Sev's been very quiet on the topic - not that she's surprised, not given his own upbringing.  She leans on the windowsill, and props her chin on her fists and imagines two toddlers waddling around the garden, squatting to peer at the grass and squealing at the ladybirds in delight.  They'd be opposites, of course; a rotund Dursley with his blotchy ruddy face and tiny piggy eyes, and a Snape with Sev's thin raven features - irises as black as his pupils and lank unmanageable hair.

She almost smiles.  Any of their offspring would be better served with the Evans genetics; Tuney's blonde locks - even if she's assisted by the bottle of late - and her own auburn hair, and the piercing aquamarine eyes that both of her parents passed down - her mother's sharp blue for Tuney, and her father's bright green for Lily.  And then, as she looks out of the window, she lifts her gaze from their own neatly shaped and well-tended garden - another bonus from retirement - and her imagined family and peers into the distance.  She can't see Sev's parents' house from her window, but she can see the filthy derelict chimney which looms large over the dilapidated rows of old two-up-two-down Victorian terraces.

She glances behind her at the bubbling cauldron, checking the clock once more.  It's almost ready, the Wolfsbane - and this time, she's even more confident.  She knows she's brewed it perfectly, despite Severus' amorous interruptions, and she can't deny that there's a little thrill of excitement bubbling inside her at pulling one over on wizarding society - at a Muggleborn brewing a potion that most others lacked sufficient talent to even attempt.

When they were youths, Sev used to shout about rebelliousness and sticking two fingers up to the man - although he rarely elaborated on exactly _who_ the man was, and she privately reckoned it changed from week to week - and she'd always rolled her eyes at his passion; rallying against nothing was a fruitless exercise, but now she understood.  It isn't rallying against nothing - it's rallying against those who hold you back, who keep you in your place, who close off doors before you've even had chance to knock on them.

Somehow, on this nicer side of town, the words on Sev's lips, the words forged in the misery of Spinner's End had never quite struck a chord with her, but now, as someone oppressed within their chosen world, she can't help but stare at the intimidatory tower in the distance - the one which blocks the direct sunlight to Sev's bedroom window, and casts the house in a cold shadow - and she wonders at how many doors were shut to hateful Tobias whilst her father David waltzed right through.

* * *

He flings his old bedroom window open, and hoists himself out onto the ledge, his long thin legs dangling outside in the air.  He flicks his wand, and lights his cigarette, and then stashes his wand behind his ear. He leans his head against the window frame and lifts the cigarette to his lips, drawing on it deeply and exhaling loudly.

"Thought she had got you to stop that filthy habit."

"Fuck's sake, Mam," he says, gripping the frame of the window with his free hand.  "Nearly fucking fell out!"

"Shouldn't sit in the window then, should you," she snipes back, but there's no heat in her voice.  She moves to stand behind him, her thin face resting on his shoulder, peering out across the rows of houses.  He draws again, the acrid taste filling his mouth, and then he silently passes her the cigarette - mother and son exhaling plumes of smoke into the crisp evening air, looking at the rows of dark houses.

"Do I want to know?"

"No," he says quickly.

"You didn't even ask what I-"

"-whatever you're going to say, Mam, you don't want to know," he says, his voice low.  "It's dangerous."

"They're nice people."

He frowns and twists slightly, trying to see his mother's expression.   _Nice people?_ "Who do you mean?"

"Her parents."

He barks a laugh.  " _You_ do not think they're nice people."  He nods downwards.  "And neither does he."

"Saw her the other day."

"Her?"

"Rose."

"Oh."

"They're not like us," she warns, "that's what I mean."  She takes a long draw on the cigarette.  "They'll be devastated if anything happens to her."

"Nothing's going to happen to her!  I'm looking after her!"

"Good."  And with that, Eileen passes him the stub of his cigarette and steps away, her footsteps loud as she retreats out of the room and down the stairs.

He scowls, and grips the inch of the cigarette that's left, his dirty fingernails pressed tight to his lips as he desperately sucks on the filter, letting the bitter taste of home fill his senses.  

* * *

"Who's joining us?" she asks, as her mother sets the dining table for four.  

Rose looks up sharply at her daughter.  "Isn't he upstairs?"

"Who?  Sev?"  Lily frowns.  "No, he'll be at work.  You know he comes by on Sundays.  ...what made you think he was upstairs?"

Rose pauses, holding the fourth fork in midair, as if trying to decide whether to set the place or not.  "Your father saw him this afternoon."

"Sev?  This afternoon?  In Cokeworth?"  She's trying to be calm, but she knows her voice has an odd tone to it - a pitch higher than normal.

Her reaction seals Rose's decision, and she whips away the fork, and the mat, and bundles them back into the kitchen.  "He must've been mistaken," she calls over her shoulder, "you know how your father gets."

Lily follows her through.  "Daddy won't have been mistaken.  How many lads around here look like Sev?  They're all skinheads."

"Oh, Lily, they are not."

"They are!  Name one who isn't," she challenges.

"Well, there's Alice Barrett's son for a start."

"Matthew Barrett is twelve, Mummy!"  Lily shoots Rose a hard glare.  "If Daddy saw Sev, then he's here."

"Perhaps he went to see his parents," Rose says, conceding the point without explicit acknowledgement, and turning her attention back to the stove.  She starts to dish up the meal, but there's too much food now, and Lily watches as her mother's hand hovers, uncertain whether to overface the three of them, or to scrape the remains into a tupperware box.

"He hates going to see his parents."

"They're still his parents," Rose admonishes softly.  "I know he finds it...difficult-"

Lily shakes her head angrily.  "Difficult!  It's not difficult!  They fucked him up and-"

"Lily Evans!"  Rose interrupts sharply, and shakes her wooden spoon in the air, wagging it in front of Lily's face.  "I will _not_ tolerate such language in this house."  The spoon clatters down on the worktop, and there's a long pause.  In the silence, Rose wipes the edge of one of the plates with a tea towel, removing a smear of gravy that has dripped down the side, and then speaks again more quietly, "Severus' parents did the best they could with what they had."

"He beat him.  For years!"  Lily's words come hotly, and she can see the spirals of steam from their plates dissipating, her mother's afternoon of hard work rapidly cooling and congealing on the plates, but now that they've started, she can't put the discussion to rest.  "Tobias.  His dad!"

"We know, love."

"He scarred him.  Permanently."

At this, Rose winces.  They'd always known, her and David - and they'd always felt so helpless when the odd boy had swung his leg over the fence - _Severus, must you jump over the fence and race over the back garden and rap loudly on the dining room window?  Could you not find it in yourself to walk up the front path and knock politely on the door?_ \- with fresh telltale signs of abuse; it was rare that the cuts and bruises and reddened marks would be on show, but he often carried himself oddly, as if compensating for a limb that was sore, and he reacted weirdly, flinching and ducking and occasionally even trembling if David got annoyed and shouted a little too loudly at the television.

"On his back," Lily continues, pointing to the small of her back and then smoothing her hand around her waist, "and his hip, and more a bit further down."

"I know you don't like him, but Tobias is still his father, Lily.  Families can be complicated."

"It's not just me!  I have to force Sev to go," she argues.  "Whenever we come here, I make him go there first, Mummy, and it's always horrible!  Eileen never says anything and just smokes those horrible cigarettes, and Tobias listens to the radio, and Sev's always putting his hand in his pocket to find them money-"

"He went there when you broke up," her mother reminds her, gently.  "He obviously gets something from his relationship with them, and Eileen thinks-"

"Something's wrong," Lily interrupts.  "He went back to them when we'd split up, but it was only because he had no-one else to turn to…  If he's gone there now…"  Lily turns to grab her shoes, and as if reading her mind, her mother grabs her wrist, holding her firm.

"No."

"But he needs me-"

"If he needed you," Rose says, her tone brooking no argument, "he'd have come here."  She looks her daughter squarely in the eye.  "Do you trust him?"

"...yes."

"You're certain?"

"Yes!"

"-then let him come to you," Rose says.  She points at the plates.  "Now, you can either explain to your father why his dinner's cold, or you could whip up one of those warming charms you're so proud of…"

* * *

The knock is rhythmic, and loud, and obnoxious.   _Tat-a-tat-tat-tat-a-tat-tat._ At this time of night, there's only David who ordinarily answers the door, but before he can reach it, Lily's flown down the stairs and has rudely pushed past her father, her fingers scrabbling at the Yale lock.  David opens his mouth to protest, but when he sees the lanky young man at the front step, he simply shakes his head - and then, as Lily throws her arms around her boyfriend, kissing him soundly, David coughs awkwardly and steps back into the living room.

"Who is it, dear?"

"Severus," he says, and his tone isn't disapproving, but he glances at the clock - it's gone ten.  "Who else?"

* * *

Lily scoffs loudly, and shakes her head.  "No, absolutely not.  I've spent days on this!"

"It's not safe for you to meet him," he hisses.  "Give me the potion and I'll get it to him."

"You're willing to meet with the wolf?" she says, scornfully.  "Yeah, right."

Severus shakes his head.  There's no point in lying.  "No."

"Your best friend Potter, then?  I'm sure you can't wait to see him!"  

"Lil, I'll get it to Lupin."  He stares at her.  "I'm serious, Lil."

"So am I, Sev," she argues.  "You're going to pass it through a network, aren't you?  Who?  Malfoy?  Fletcher?"  She shakes her head firmly.  "Adding more people to the mix adds to the risk.  I'll meet with Remus, like I did last time, and-"

"They'll be watching you," he says, his voice low.  

"...they know I'm here?"

His shrug is slight.  "I'm worried, that's all."

"I'm safe here," she says.  "You said so yourself.  They're more likely to be watching you, if they're following anyone!"

"And they've ruled me out as the brewer," he says, hotly, "so there's no risk if I take it, is there?"

"I haven't got time for this.  Remus is expecting me," she says.

"...you're not going alone," he says, finally, and she smiles, pleased to have won a victory - even if it's small.  "Well?" he says, more briskly, unwilling to dwell on the fact that he's relented.  "Where are we going, then?"

"Waterloo," she says.  "I Apparated under the bridge nearest to the station, on the South Bank.  He'll be waiting at the entrance to platform 10."

"10?"

"Close as we could get to 9 and ¾," she laughs.

"You'd both be useless as spies," he mutters.  "Come here, love," he says, and she's gratified when he pulls her into his arms instead of arguing further.

* * *

She drags him through the air, the spiral of Apparation squeezing them both, but he lands solidly, steadying himself against the wet brickwork which forms the tunnel.

"Stay here, love," he says, kissing her quickly, and wrapping his coat more tightly around him.

"No, he's expecting _me_ , not you!"

" _Stay_ ," he hisses.  "It's not like he doesn't know who I am.  He'll work it out."

She doesn't.  He's barely five feet away when she starts to follow in his shadow.  She keeps close to the wall, and deliberately strives to keep her footsteps light, but after twenty yards - just as he's jogged up the steps to the concourse - he turns unexpectedly and grabs her wrist.  He twists her against the wall, her head just brushing the frame of an old advertising poster as he pushes her hard against the bricks, his body pressed tightly to hers, and his breath hot and smelling of old smoke.

"Sev…"

He doesn't answer, just pins her warm body beneath his, and then his lips meet the soft skin where her jaw meets her neck.  "Why don't you listen, love?" he murmurs, covering her neck with firm kisses.  "Why can't you see I want to keep you safe?"

"You can't lock me in a box," she warns, twisting her face so her lips meet his, and she draws him into a lingering kiss - and when he loosens his grip on her, she wraps her arms around his neck, her fingers twisting to cradle the back of his head, and pulling him down closer.

"I would," he whispers, "if it'd keep you safe."

"Stay with me tonight," she gasps as his fingers meet warm skin, "let me come back with you."  Her bright eyes meet his dark ones, and she captures his bottom lip with her teeth, gently pulling him towards her and causing him to groan.  "Please, Sev."

"...yes," he says, his voice husky, and he frames her face with his hands as they kiss more deeply, ignorant of their surroundings, and until she pulls away from him, he's almost forgotten why they headed to London in the first place.

"What time is it?" she asks, breathlessly, trying to view the station clock over his shoulder.

"Don't know," he answers, pulling her back into a deep kiss, "and I don't care."  They're both lost to the sounds around them until he feels a sharp prod on his shoulder.  The two immediately break apart, and he's about to argue with the intruder - station staff, policeman, beggar, whoever - when he realises that it's the wolf.

"Oh, it's you."

"Remus," she says, brushing her clothes down, and meeting the man with a far nicer tone than her boyfriend had managed.

"I didn't think you were bringing company, Lily," Lupin says lightly.

Severus pulls himself up to his full height, standing between Lupin and Lily.  "Got a problem with it?"

"Don't, Sev," she says, slipping her hand inside Severus' jacket and pulling out the glass vial, glancing to each side of them as she does.  "And don't you get caught with this, Remus."

"I think I can manage to remain inconspicuous," he laughs.  "Unlike you two."

"Just two lovers who can't bear to be separated," she says, lightly.  "Normal for a train station."

"Right.  As you were then."  And Lupin taps his forehead with his finger, in a semi-salute of thanks, and then strolls away across the concourse.

"Good riddance," Severus says, wrapping her arm tightly around his, "and now that errand is done…"

"...yes?"

"Tell me more about these two lovers who can't bear to be separated," he says, walking her briskly in the opposite direction.

"Well, he's this intelligent and secretive man-"

"...go on..."

"And she's the femme fatale."

"Of course."

"And she wants him very _very_ much."

"Oh good," he says, pulling her into a dark alley, readying them to Apparate, "because he wants her, and-" 

Then the familiar spiral of his spell pulls them both through the air, and she can't quite hear the end of his sentence, although she's fairly certain she hears him say _his._ They land in the street before their flat, and he holds her tightly in his arms.  

"What did you say, Sev?"

"I said, welcome home, love."


	36. Stay of execution

She's glad, afterwards, that he brought her back for one last night.  There's nothing of either of their personalities left in their flat - there's the kettle, some chipped crockery, and the bent forks that they'd tried to make cups of tea with and laughed at on their first night - but that's it; the touches that made the flat their own have been removed, and it's bizarre seeing it reduced to bare floorboards and buzzing white goods and ugly furniture that they don't own.

The next morning, she stands in the stark living room.  It feels cavernous without their belongings, and she's struggling to imagine how it was just a few short weeks ago - full of books and cauldrons and magazines and the warm rug and her dainty ornaments.  

She's naked under his travelling cloak - using it as a makeshift dressing gown because their clean clothes are long packed and vanished - and she's nursing a mug of tea when he comes up behind her, wrapping his arms around her warm body.

"It doesn't feel like home.  I wasn't sure you'd want to see it like this," he says.  

"No," she agrees.  "I probably wouldn't have.  But I'm glad."

She is, and she isn't - but the thought of never coming back, of never getting to say goodbye to the walls where they made their first home is far worse.  At least this way, he's been honest with her - told her of Malfoy's ploy and Slughorn's plotting, and although the thought of fighting with Severus in public is making the muscles in her back tense, she's relieved that he's had the sense to tell her.  Once upon a time, not so long ago, he'd have kept it to himself - deciding that it would all come out in the wash, fearing that her reaction to such a fight wouldn't be realistic if he tipped her off beforehand - but following those hateful weeks apart, even Severus isn't quite so cold as to think she'd forgive him for such a betrayal.

"Started practicing those tears?" he says, and his tone is forced - he's trying to be lighthearted, but she knows him so well, she can tell the whole idea bothers him too.

"What are you going to say?"

"Does it matter?"

It doesn't.  Not really.  But she thinks it's going to sting.  She knows it has to be good - has to sound real, so what else can he say but things based in truth, and deeply hidden truths always hurt.

* * *

She's almost outside when he suddenly lunges for her, and pulls her back towards him, his other hand reaching over the top of her head and banging the front door firmly shut.  

"Sev, what-"

But she can't say anything else, because his mouth is over hers, and as she clings to his shoulders, he slides his right foot between her feet, gently knocking her stance wider until he can press his thigh between her legs, pushing his bodyweight firmly against her, and giving a satisfied groan when she understands his intent and grinds against him.

In ordinary circumstances, she would've been annoyed and pushed him off, unhappy that he'd let her dress - albeit in yesterday's clothes - and perfect her hair and make-up before ruining all of her hard work.  But today isn't an ordinary day, and the stay of execution appeals to her.  She's desperate to hear the silky timbre of his voice ushering soft declarations of love into the shell of her ear instead of spewing the torrent of resentment and hatred that she knew stepping out of the door would bring.

"I spent ages layering this mascara," she whispers in his ear, "so it'd run when you shouted at me."

"Yeah, but will it run when I fuck you hard against the door?" he murmurs back, and she gives a small gasp at his sudden crudeness, squealing with delight as he hoists her leg around his hip and drives himself into her.

* * *

He's sprawled on the floor and watching her with interest as she dresses.

"You make me feel like I'm in a zoo," she protests, but he just laughs and doesn't avert his gaze.

"I'm not sorry," he elaborates, giving her a smug smile.  "I like looking at you."  And then he gives an even wider grin.  "I especially like looking at you when you're all dishevelled - when you look like you've been ravished."

"I have been ravished," she laughs, brushing at the marks across her pale chest, faint purple blooming around the red where he'd sucked and bitten her skin.  "I don't know what got into you," she says, and as her eyes meet his and she sees the feral glint in his eye, she suddenly realises he did it on purpose.  "Tagging me, were you?"

He shrugs, nonchalantly, and then stands, pulling his own clothes back on.  "Wanted to make sure you didn't forget me."

She freezes, as if the veins to her heart had stopped pumping warm blood and had been switched with icy slush.  " _Forget_ you?"

He sees the panic in her eyes, and he quickly envelopes her in his embrace.  "I just… You're coming with me," he says, "that's the plan.  It _is_ the plan.  It's just…"

"Just what?  Tell me."

She can feel his heart beating unevenly in his chest, not too fast, not too slow, but a little out of time - _thadunk-dink-thadunk-dink-tha-thadink-dunk_ \- and then he exhales loudly through his nose.  

"I don't know what's going to happen," he says.  "I don't know who's going to be there, or what I'm going to say.  I don't know if someone's going to be your knight in shining armour, and I'm going to have to duel my way out, or if-"

"-if I'm going to be chased out, like the hated Mudblood-"

"Don't!"

"...so you gave me something to remember you by," she says, with a tight smile.  "As if I haven't been living apart from you for weeks already.  As if you're easy to forget."

"Yeah, well," he says, stepping back, and pulling his boots on.  And then, as if he's thought of something, he steps forward with a wicked grin, and kisses her.  "Don't wash me away," he whispers in her ear.

"Sev!"

"I mean it," he says, and his voice is hard, but his smile is playful.  "Don't wash.  Not until we're together again.  You're _mine_.  Remember that."  

And then he pulls the door open, and jogs down the steps, and she wonders if the show of semi-Neanderthal possessiveness is a one-off, a reaction to their extreme circumstances, or whether it's been hidden under a swirl of black robes all of this time.

* * *

It was awful.  It wasn't a surprise; she knew it was going to be - but hearing the venom in his voice and the disgust that adorned his face made it impossible for her to reconcile the person in front of her with her lover, with the man who had spent most of the night making reverential love to her in their bed, with the man who'd spent a hurried half hour staking a final furious claim to her body before they'd stepped out into Diagon Alley.

She knew he was acting, but it was hard to believe when he was so convincing, and she hadn't been able to help herself - she'd looked, at one point, right into his eyes - brushing him with her embryonic efforts at Legilimency, but her non-verbal spell was weak, and there was something steely in his gaze.  If she hadn't known better, if she wasn't still aching and sore from his earlier attentions, she'd have thought that he truly hated her.

The wizards and witches in Flourish and Blotts most certainly did.

 _"You're a leech,"_ he'd spat, _"a selfish, greedy, blood-sucking stain on my name and my property and my success."_

Unbelievably, it had been Peter Pettigrew who had come to her aid, his wand clenched in his fist.  He was nervous, no doubt about it, but he'd stepped into the crowd - maintaining what he clearly assumed to be a safe distance from Severus - and made his challenge.   _"Leave her alone, Snivellus!"_

_"Oh, and here comes Pathetic Peter.  Where's the rest of the tribe?"_

Pettigrew had flinched, and she didn't need Legilimency to see that he was weighing up his options - debating whether to lie and convince Severus he was outnumbered, or to tell the truth and hold his own - but as he mulled over the decision, another wizard started to move from the back of the room.  Pettigrew didn't see him, but Severus did.

 _"If you want my cast-offs, you can have them!"_   Severus had quickly snarled, unwilling to let the spat spiral into something he couldn't cleanly handle.  Breaking up was one thing, but a genuine all out fight in Diagon Alley and a subsequent interrogation from a heavy handed auror was something else entirely.  

When Severus was satisfied that the other wizard had stopped in his tracks, he'd moved forwards and loomed over her, his head tilted and a leering sneer fixed across his face.   _"We all know that filthy Mudbloods are only good for one thing.  Pity she's no good at it, even though I gave her **plenty**_ _of practice."_ And then he'd stepped back, and laughed, and saluted at Peter.   _"You'll still be visiting your favourite whores down Knockturn, believe me."_

* * *

He'd been right in his fears.  Neither of them could anticipate what would come next - which was why she found herself in the Order's safehouse instead of in her boyfriend's arms in the depths of Hogwarts.  

Pettigrew kept looking at her with an uncomfortable mixture of pride and concern and what she feared was a hint of lust, whilst Black and Lupin played chess in one corner.  Potter was pacing around the room, tapping his wand angrily against his palm, whilst Bones was holding her as she sobbed.  Well, she had appearances to keep up, after all.

"He's not worth it, Evans," Potter barks when she reaches for yet another tissue.

"We'll fuck him up when we see him next," Black says, his tone lazy.  "I owe him anyway."

Lily shakes her head, panicked, and Bones glares at the group of men.  

"Enough, boys," Bones says, "retaliation won't help.  It won't make Lily feel any better, and it'll only draw that group's attention to us - it'll make them realise that we're protecting her."

"Might not make Evans feel better, but it might give me some satisfaction," mutters Black.  "My right arm's never been right since he cast that shitty spell at me."

She knows the spell.  She knows the fight - but she's never heard Black speak of it before.  Even when it happened, even when the rumours were in full flight around the school, neither Black nor Severus had openly talked about what had gone on.  And then he's standing before her, Black, shrugging off his outer robes, and revealing a t-shirt beneath.  He tugs it off, and spins around, and then she sees the livid scars criss-crossing the top of his back, creeping over his shoulders, and the thick gouges in his upper arms.

 _Severus did that_ , she thinks, and although she knows that the boys were enemies, somehow seeing the deep wounds makes it rather more real.  "Do they hurt?" she asks, finally.

He shrugs.  "Sting a bit sometimes," he admits, picking his shirt back up, and tugging it over his head.

"Stop!"

And he does, and she untangles herself from Bones' loose embrace, tracing the single thin laceration that has escaped from the cluster on his shoulder.  The uneven line tracks across his collarbone and just up into his neck.

"He only stopped because I came over," Potter says, darkly.  "His wand was right there."

"I reckon he'd have done it," Black says, pulling the shirt on, and smoothing it down.  "He's unpredictable.  Like today.  There's something weird inside him, something that makes him snap."

 _Something that makes him snap?  Like feeding him to a fucking wolf_ , she wants to shout, but she doesn't - and the more that she looks at Black, the more uneasy she feels.   _Would he have done?  If Potter hadn't come over, would Severus have drawn his wand across Black's neck?  Bled him out?  Decapitated him?  Killed him?_

And then she sobs again, and this time, she's not quite sure who or what she's sobbing for.

* * *

They assemble with relative ease, given the short notice.  There's offers from a few quarters - a meal to take, a bed to stay, a shoulder to cry - and there's a few who look genuinely pleased at the news; Potter, obviously, but Moody as well.  Dumbledore's as placid as ever, giving nothing away, whilst Vance eyes her suspiciously across the table.

When the group breaks for refreshments, she corners her.  "Convenient."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Convenient," Vance says, a little more venomously.  "I ask you to spy, and you immediately find yourself expelled from your little group of darkness.  How long were you dating him?  Four years, was it?  Five?"  Her eyes narrow.  "And now it's over?  And now what?  You'll shack up with Potter and align with the Order and believe that all is forgiven?  Because that's not how this works, Lily."

"No," she says, hotly, her mouth running away with her before her brain can catch up.  "As you're so well informed, I'm amazed you didn't hear. Sev dumped me because he found out I'd been fucking Malfoy."

As soon as she says it, she wonders if she'll regret it - but the stunned look on Vance's face makes the lie worthwhile.  

"Lucius Malfoy?"

"Yes, Lucius Malfoy.  And why not?" Lily gives her a tight smile.  "I'm hardly marriage material, not for a Pureblood, but he runs a nice line in pretty jewels."  And then she deliberately fingers the bracelet on her wrist - the Prince heirloom that Severus gave to her all those years ago.  "You'll get your information, don't you worry - but I am sure you'd agree that it will look awfully odd if I don't at least give the appearance of mourning my relationship."  She gives a tight smile.  "Now if you don't mind, I have a bed to arrange with some kind soul."

Vance's retort is waspish.  "Lucius Malfoy's benevolence doesn't run that far, I see?"

"It does, but I fear Mrs Malfoy might notice something is awry if I turned up alone at this late hour.  Now, please, do excuse me."


	37. Overt display

It's a funny little house, The Burrow - a hotchpotch of bricks and wood, and of rooms stacked precariously upon each other.  As they near the house, she spies several bright haired young wizards careering around on broomsticks.

"Boys, inside!" Arthur calls, as he ushers Lily through the door.  "I'll take her from here, Gideon, thank you."

Gideon flashes her a grin, and pumps Arthur's hand.  "Right you are, Arthur," he says, cheerfully.  "I won't come in - Molly will chew my ear off, and I'm meant to be meeting Fabes at six."  He drops a careful kiss on Lily's cheek.  "You'll be fine here," - and before she can say anything, he's disappeared in a quick flash.

"Dad, was that Uncle Gideon?"

"Inside, Charlie!  How many times?" Arthur says, pushing his sons into the crooked house.  

"Are you sure you don't mind?" she asks nervously, watching as Arthur looks pointedly outside - in both directions - before slamming the door shut behind him.  "I don't like to be any bother, and-"

"A friend of Alastor Moody's is a friend of mine," he interrupts, heartily, placing his hat on the kitchen table.

"Of both of ours," Molly adds, bustling past with a large steaming pan of stew.  "Bill, dear, stop winding your brothers up-"

"I wasn't!"

"-if you wake the twins, then-"

An immediate hush fills the room, and Lily looks at Arthur in surprise.  "You've got more? Twins?"

"They're little babies," Charlie helpfully chips in.

"They're little horrors," Arthur laughs, settling into the chair at the top of the table.  "Better off asleep, if you ask me."

* * *

They're welcoming, the Weasleys - but they make an odd group; one mother, one father and five small boys.  Of the boys, Bill talks to her the most, but Charlie couldn't be less interested - he's always climbing a tree, or trying to coax a pigeon out of a bush.  Percy's very quiet - shy, she'd have guessed - and spends his time equally split between trailing after his older brothers, and sitting proudly next to the twins, as if he was their protector.

"Split personality, that one," Molly says, when she spots her watching Percy from across the room.  He's sat next to the twins, a reading book carefully placed on his lap, and at every other page, he steals a glance at his younger brothers.  "Can't decide if he wants to be the smallest of the bigger ones, or the biggest of the smaller ones."

It's then that Lily notices the start of a bulge around Molly's midriff.   _Surely not another?  So soon?_ But it's rude to stare, and ruder still to ask - _it could just be baby weight_.  Lily glances at the mess - not mess, chaos is a fairer assessment - and she wonders for a brief moment what such a house would look like with her and Severus at the helm, with dark haired and green eyed children sprinting between the rooms instead of ginger haired boys with faces full of freckles.

"Fabian said it was a nasty scene," Molly adds, as if catching her sorrowful gaze.  Her knitting needles clatter loudly against each other.  "You didn't see it coming, then?"

She's grateful that Arthur appears from work at that very moment, his eyes tired but his arms full of an overfilled cardboard box, which is bulging at the seams in the same way that The Burrow itself seems to be with its many occupants.

"Ah, Lily! You're a Muggleborn!  Come here and take a look at these for me," he calls, with an excited smile.

"Arthur, please, not on the table - Bill and Charlie haven't finished eating."

Arthur ignores his wife, rummaging in the box and spilling its contents across the table.  "What do you think of this?" he asks, thumping down a bundle of wires onto the table.

"What do I think of it?"

"Yes, what is it?" he presses.

"Well, it's an extension cable."

"Ingenious!" he says, excitedly, turning it over in its hands.

"Useful, I suppose," she admits, not quite seeing her host's excitement.  

"Dad's always like this with plugs," Bill says, scooping another forkful of peas into his mouth.

"It's not a plug," Arthur rebukes.  "Lily just said it is an exten…"

"Extension cable," she fills in, quickly.

Charlie waved at it with his spoon, pointing at the plug at the end.  "Can't be.  That's a plug."

"You put the plug in the socket in the house," Lily patiently explains, pointing at the cables, "and then you can take this out of the house and still have electricity.  It extends the supply."

"An extension cable," Arthur adds, pleased with his new knowledge.

"Yes, we have one for mowing the lawn."

"How exciting!" Arthur says, hunting through the box.  "Lily, tell me more."

She isn't sure how much more there is to tell, but she gives Molly a smile and sits, happy to indulge Arthur's enthusiasm, as long as it keeps her from having to answer any questions about Severus.

* * *

Lily stands in the window, looking out across the countryside, and she's at a loss as to how she's going to manoeuvre her way to Hogwarts.  It's been three long days since Gideon had Apparated her across the country, and then trekked her through fields to get to his sister's house.  

 _"Lovely people,"_ he'd said.   _"My brother-in-law's a bit…  Well, you'll see."_ And then he'd grinned, and clapped his hand around her shoulder.   _"But you'll be safe, and that's the main thing."_

But she didn't want to be safe out here, imposing on this unknown young family, and with no way of getting to Severus, or to her parents, or to Vance or Malfoy or anyone else.  She was out on her own, with a young family who had twins who screamed through the night, and small boys who yelled through the day.  

She needed to have something of worth for Vance for their next meeting, and she needed to tell Severus about her lie about Malfoy, and…  She twists her robes in her hand.  She didn't really want to think about Malfoy finding out what she'd said; didn't want him getting the wrong impression.  She isn't sure now why she said it - it seemed like a terribly good idea at the time, but now she wonders what Vance will ask of her next.  Maybe she'll want a way into the Manor, or something from Malfoy's private possessions - his bedroom, even - and she'll have no way of doing that, and then she'll be exposed.  

 _Severus_ , she thinks, _that's who I need_.

* * *

He's not in the best of moods when he's summoned to the Headmaster's office.  It's been days since their fight in Diagon Alley, and nobody has seen any trace of Lily.  Malf has assured him that he's been looking, and has told him to keep his head down and his mind focused on his newfound role at Hogwarts, but Severus can't settle - and he certainly can't sleep.  At least during the day he can lose himself in his brewing, but once the night rolls around, he pulls what will be her pillow close to his chest, and wonders if she's thinking about him in the same way that he's thinking about her.  

Severus can't put the meeting off any longer - Slughorn poked his head through to the laboratory half an hour earlier, and reminded him that Professor Dumbledore had requested his presence, and then Slughorn had barged his way in twenty minutes later, his tone impressing upon Severus that the meeting was less a request, and more of a demand.  

Severus had washed his equipment quickly, and he'd started the lonely trudge up the long staircases.  It's not an unfamiliar route to him; he'd been called up there more than once in his own Hogwarts career - _far_ more than once - and it had never been a pleasant experience.  

He raps lightly on the door, hoping that Dumbledore won't hear and he can descend back to the dungeons in peace, but to his dismay, the door swings open immediately.

"Severus," Dumbledore says, welcoming him into the warm office.  "Thank you for joining me.  Please, do take a seat."

"Thank you, Professor," he says, perching on the barest edge of the offered chair.  "Professor Slughorn said that you wished to speak with me."

"I do," Dumbledore says, taking his own seat opposite Severus in a swirl of brightly coloured robes.  "I have been informed that you have been drawing some attention to yourself-"

"-sir-"

"-and I wished to impress upon you that this is an inclusive school," Dumbledore says, firmly.  "I had rather hoped that your committed relationship with Miss Evans meant that you did not see things in the same way as some of your old housemates," and at this, he peers over his spectacles, his bright blue eyes catching Severus' own.  

Immediately, without thinking his actions through, Severus pulls down his imaginary metal shutter, instantly shielding his thoughts from the Headmaster's prying eyes. 

"...interesting, Severus."

"I don't know what you mean, sir."

Dumbledore leans back in his seat.  "Now, Severus, let us not play with each other."  He twirls his wand absently in his left hand, and the movement of the wood is almost hypnotic.  "You caused quite a stir in this school a few short years back."

Severus bristles, not quite sure which moment Dumbledore is referring to - his school career was hardly uneventful.  "On which occasion, sir?"

And at this, Dumbledore gives a soft chuckle.  "Indeed, Severus. ...I am, of course, referring to the moment that you and young Miss Evans rather publicly declared your... _interest_ in each other."

He knows why the older man emphasises the word in such a way - it wasn't him bending on one knee to ask Lily to a ball, or them being caught passing notes in class.  No, their declaration of _interest_ was Potter and Black goading him, as per usual, and Lily finally seeing red, and storming over, her temper flaring:

* * *

"What did you just say, Black?"

Potter jabbed Black in the ribs.  "Here she is.  You're for it now, Pads."

She glared from one boy to the other, her hands firmly on her hips.  "No, go on," she spat.  "I want to hear you say it again."

"Lil," he'd weakly protested.  She might want to hear it so she can rebuke Black properly, but Severus didn't wish for it to be repeated - and now that the whole of the Great Hall was listening in, and not just the small group around his end of the Slytherin table, his embarrassment would be magnified.  "Leave it, will you?"

"Yeah, Evans, listen to the greaseball and forget-"

"Shut up, Potter!"  Her wand was pointing at the pair of them, moving between the two smirking Gryffindors.  "Now, Black.  Say it!"

Black held his hands up in mock surrender, his eyes glinting as he stared at Severus.  "You heard the lady, Sniv, I've got no choice."

Severus' own wand had fallen into his hand at this point, sliding down the sleeve of his robes.  He tried again, desperate to halt the scene. "Lil-"

But Black wasn't about to let the opportunity slide, not now he had a large audience hanging off his every word.  "I said, until he took his clothes off-"

"I didn't _take_ my clothes off!  You sick idiots stripped me!"

Potter sniggered.  "As if we'd want to take your clothes off, it's bad enough looking at you as it is."  

And then, before Severus could retort, Black continued more loudly, "I said, Evans, I thought Malfoy had made this greasy little virgin into his pet eunuch-"

"Hit him, Snape!"

"Don't have that, Snape!"

"Black, he's got his wand out!"

"Yeah, go on, Snape, hex him!"

"Do him, Potter, before he hits you!"

"Get him, Black!"

"Potter, smack him!"

"Quick!  Now, Snape!"

"No!  Don't!"  Lily had stepped between him and Black, and Potter had pulled the laughing Black in the other direction, preventing him from firing a shot off.

"-and then he stood there in all his _glory_ , and it turns out Malfoy hasn't," Black laughed maliciously.  "Still, Sniv, if you show Malfoy that pathetic excuse for a body over the summer, he still might.  There's hardly anything worth saving."

There was a sudden commotion at the teachers' table, but due to the braying laughter echoing around him, Severus couldn't wait until an adult intervened - he couldn't help himself.  With a flash of anger, his wand was raised and the curse was on his lips, but before he could strike, Lily had grabbed him around the neck and clamped her mouth over his own, her lips pressed firmly against him, and her tongue searching for his.

"No way!"

"Merlin!"  Potter sounded broken.  "...is she getting off with Snivellus?"

"Bloody hell, Prongs.  I didn't think-"

"Is she actually getting off with Snivellus?"  Potter's voice became louder behind them.  "Is this some sort of hex?  Has he jinxed you, Evans?  Is this a potion?" 

And then Potter grabbed his shoulder, and tried to pull him away, but Lily held him even more tightly, refusing to break the kiss.

Severus pulled back the smallest amount, just enough so he could whisper under his breath to his girlfriend.  "Fucking hell, Lil," he murmured, as they continued to kiss each other, horribly aware of the entire student body watching their every movement.  "What are you doing?"

"What I should've done ages ago," she murmured back, and then - her arms still wrapped around Severus' neck - she turned to Black.  "What are you looking at, Black?"

"...nothing."

"No?  You think you're looking at nothing?"

"Lil, leave it."

"No, I'll tell you what you're looking at - whilst you've been trying unsuccessfully to get off with half of the girls in Gryffindor," she smirked, "Severus has been shagging me for months."

And then there really was a hushed silence across the Great Hall.  

"Yes, well," came Slughorn's booming voice across the hall, quickly making his way down from the top table and stepping between the student tables.  "Enough now.  Back to your own meals, all of you."

Severus watched as Lily, Black and Potter moved back towards the Gryffindor table, and then he felt Slughorn's warm hand on his shoulder, steering him back to his own seat, where Avery, Mulciber and the younger Black were all staring at him, with expressions of horror, disgust and glee in equal measure.  

"And you, Mr Snape, ten points from Slytherin."

"Ten points!  But-"

"For that overt display," Slughorn said, disapprovingly.  "No cavorting in the halls. You know the rules."

"Should be from Gyffindor, sir!  That Mudblood grabbed him," Mulciber spat angrily, "it's not like he wanted her disgusting tongue down his throat.  You should give Snape ten points for not hexing her-"

"And ten more points from you, Mr Mulciber."  Slughorn glanced at his students.  "Does anyone else have anything to say?  Are we to fall behind Hufflepuff in the House Cup again, because none of you have the sense to keep quiet?"

The table fell silent once more, and when Slughorn trotted back up to his place on the stage, Mulciber jabbed his fork into the back of Severus' hand.

"Fuck!" Severus hissed, yanking his hand away and sucking on the bleeding wound.  "What was that for?"

"Is it true?"

There was a long silence.

"I asked you a question, Snape.  Are you doing that Mudblood?"

Severus nodded, stiffly.  There was no point continuing to deny it, as he had been doing up until this moment - not now, not after that display.  

"And you're just using her?  For practice?" he asked, his eyes narrowed.  "Until you get someone better?"

Severus glanced over his shoulder, and he could see that Lily was now alone at the Gryffindor table - all of her friends had shuffled over, giving her a wide berth, but her back was straight, their lack of support unable to knock the pride from her.   _If she can do it_ , he thought.  

And then Severus looked back at Mulciber, and took a long swig from his goblet.  "Nah," he said, standing, "she's good enough for me."  He collected his books, and shrugged them under his arm, leaning back over the table.  "And what's more, Mulc, I've had her in your bed."  He grinned broadly as he stalked off towards the dungeons, calling loudly behind him, "Nice pillowcases!"

It had been _hell_.  Absolute hell.  He'd raced back to the dungeons to throw his belongings into his trunk - and he'd been right to do so.  Mulciber had thrown him unceremoniously out of the dorm, and he'd been forced to sleep in the common room - which often wasn't vacant before 2am, and he was always rudely awakened by the elves at 4am when they came through to clean.

In the end, Haughty - one of the oldest elves - had taken up his cause and led him to a private room deep in the castle; he'd later found out that it was under the instruction of Slughorn, and in their final year, Lily had joined him more often than not.  It hadn't been quite so bad for her in Gryffindor, but she was no longer enjoying Hogwarts in the way she had previously; she walked to lessons alone unless he was with her, and she didn't have that gaggle of girls hanging around her as she'd always done in her younger years.  

He hadn't been certain that it was Slughorn's intention that the two of them would turn his new private room into a sanctuary for both of them, nor that Dumbledore or McGonagall approved of what they were doing in there of an evening - but if they felt strongly about it, none of them commented.  It was indisputable that the pair worked hard as they both continued to gain high grades, and with them locked in their own room deep in the castle, Severus wasn't fighting Potter or Black, or even Mulciber and Avery, and Lily wasn't being cold-shouldered by the entirety of Gryffindor Tower.  

They walked around the castle hand-in-hand, neither keen - when they could help it - to leave the other one to the mercy of those they ran into in the corridors.

* * *

"I remember, sir," he says, flushing a little.  

And then those piercing eyes are staring at him again.  "I admired you then, Severus."

"...sir?"

"It takes great courage to stand up to bullies," he says, "and it takes even greater courage to stand up to your friends.  ...am I right in thinking, Severus, that until that moment it had been your intention to join He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"  

Severus doesn't answer immediately.  He can't.  The shame weighs heavily on him, because it was true - horribly true - but back then, he'd thought that the world was a little different.  He'd been so angry at his parents, at his Muggle father, at his bullies - at the world.  He wanted power, and at the time, Malf had been whispering in his ear about him being someone - about how he'd be elevated amongst his peers, and he'd be the one ordering Avery and Mulciber around, and…  

"...I am glad I didn't, sir."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

And Severus swallows hard, knowing that surprise is etched across his own features.  "But, sir, you-"

Dumbledore raises his hand, stopping him from continuing.  "I am sorry to hear that, because I do not believe a word of your tantrum in Diagon Alley."

"Sir, I-"

"Shh now, Severus.  Your old friends, now yes, they will be _very_ happy to hear of your change of heart.  When prejudices run so deeply, some find it only too easy to accept someone's words when their beliefs mirror their own."

"I-"

"Indeed," Dumbledore says, ignoring the younger wizard, "I suspect that with your little outburst, you will find a sudden flock of owls coming your way, and I am certain that with careful wording, you will be able to convince your old contemporaries that you were briefly led astray by the natural urges of a young man."

Severus' mouth gapes.  "But-"

Dumbledore continues, as if Severus hadn't spoken.  "Yes.  A young girl was willing to offer herself to you, and you weren't thinking rationally."  He then reaches over with one long finger, and gently taps the side of Severus' temple.  "You weren't thinking with _this_.  ...it is understandable.  Believable."  There's a momentary pause, and then his finger taps against Severus' temple again.  "And this," he says, with feeling, "this is more skilful than previously, isn't it?"  

Severus nods, dumbly, the old man's thin finger cold against his face.   _He knew I was using Occlumency before?_ "I'm still learning, sir."

"Yes.  I think you could be rather useful to me, Severus."


	38. Disposable pawn

They've only been sat in the kitchen for twenty minutes, and this is the third time that they've been interrupted by a small boy in pyjamas.  Lily watches as Percy climbs into his mother's outstretched arms, and Molly then whispers comforting words into his ear.  A few minutes later, after Percy has taken a sip of milky tea from her mug, the small boy is passed to Arthur, who carries him from the room - and from the creak of the stairs, back up to Percy's own bed.

Having seen a variation on this same scene played out repeatedly over the week, Lily couldn't help but wonder if Molly ever got to consume a hot drink in peace without a small mucky face clamping itself to her cup and slurping loudly.  

If it wasn't great gulps of tea being taken by the children, then it was the constant taste of biscuit that Molly was left with.  When Lily collected the mugs for cleaning, there always seemed to be a thick silt which lined the bottom of Molly's mug, comprising of sunken crumbs that had been lost into the liquid as tiny fingers carelessly dunked their biscuits.

"You don't mind," she says, as if realising what Lily's thinking.  "I thought I would, but when they're your own…"  She smiles kindly.  "But if the twins take after the other three, I might need to invest in a bigger mug."

Lily laughs, and when Arthur strides back into the room, she can't help but imagine Severus in the same role - the strong and caring father, carrying his dozing child up to his bed.  She can remember her father doing similar for her, especially after that flurry of nightmares she experienced when she first started Muggle school - and then she feels an odd pang when she thinks about Severus, wondering if Tobias had ever done the same for his small boy.

If he hadn't, she finds herself wondering how Severus would cope if he found himself thrust into that position.  Would it come naturally, with him knowing instinctively how a father should really behave, or would she have to nudge and cajole him every step of the way?  Before she can mull on it further, there's a gentle knock at the door which breaks her from her thoughts.

"At last," says Arthur, cheerfully, and after peering through the window to verify the wizard's identity, he pulls the door open.

Lily's jaw drops.  "Moody!"

"I knocked gently.  I hope I didn't wake the tribe," he says, knowingly.  He claps Arthur on the back in greeting, and kisses Molly's hand, and then he appraises Lily, who stands awkwardly before him.  "Sit down, Evans, no need to stand on parade."

They all sit down at the table, the wooden chair legs scraping on the tile - Molly to her left, Arthur to her right, and Moody straight opposite - and Arthur looks eagerly at his old friend.  

"So?  Any news from your side of the Ministry?"

"We're circling around an infiltrator," Moody gruffly says, his tone making clear his sincere disapproval.

Molly closes her eyes, as if the news physically pains her.  "Not another?"

"Not another."

"But they only just caught Damien," she protests.

"Moody doesn't think old Vector was an infiltrator," Arthur says, his voice low, throwing a cautious glance at Lily.

"Not an infiltrator?  Arthur, he went to Azkaban!"

"...without trial," Moody adds.

Molly looks troubled.  "I thought you said you were in court with him."

"A kangaroo court is a court all the same," he says.  "There's little point making a distinction these days, not with _his_ lot crawling through the ranks."

There's a brief silence, as they consider his words, and then Molly looks up sharply.  "What does Fabian think?  He did his work experience with Damien."

"I haven't told him my fears," Moody says.  "I don't think it's good for morale."

"Better that he thinks Damien's a traitor to our cause?  Better that he suspects all those around him?"

Moody reaches for Molly's hand.  "Better that as few people know as possible.  I don't want to let out that I'm onto them."

And at this, Molly shoots a sideways glance at Lily - it's fleeting, but all understand its meaning; why are her brothers kept in the dark, whilst this slip of a girl is told the truth?

Lily takes a deep breath, and stands.  "I think I'll retire for the night, Molly, Arthur.  Thank you again for-"

"Sit down, Evans," barks Moody.

"But-"

"As much as I enjoy the company of Arthur and Molly here, it would be disingenuous of me to claim that the reason for my visit was to enjoy their hospitality."  

"No?"

"No, Evans."  And then he flashes a dark grin towards her.  "I came here tonight because I wish to talk about Lucius Malfoy."

The kind hospitality that she had become accustomed to dramatically cooled, as if she'd opened the freezer door at her parents' house and stood before it.  

Molly let out a small gasp, and Arthur eyed her warily, his eyes flitting between the smiling Moody and the unsmiling Lily.  "You're a friend of Lucius Malfoy?"

"...not exactly."

Moody barks a laugh.  "Not exactly.  Beautifully put, Evans.  Evasion is a undervalued skill."  Then he grins at Arthur.  "If you believe Emmeline Vance, this pretty little thing here is fu-" - and then he glances at Molly who looks furious, and he modifies his language.  "Evans here is sleeping with Malfoy."

Arthur's usually jovial expression has hardened, but a confused look crosses Molly's face.  

"This is the same Lucius Malfoy who has openly advocated for the Muggle and magical worlds to be separated?"

"Yes."

Arthur catches his wife's train of thought, and quickly leaps onto it.  "And you think he's sleeping with a..."  He trails off, still unhappy about using the Ministry approved slur.  

"Nonsense, isn't it?" Moody says, happily, and jabbing a finger in the air towards Lily.  "And yet Emmeline Vance believes every word of it."

"And you don't?" Lily challenges, her chin tilting upwards.  "You think that Lucius Malfoy isn't the sort of man to take advantage?"

"I think Lucius Malfoy is exactly the sort of man to take advantage," Moody says, softly, "but you forget that I _know_ you, Evans.  I had to listen to every sickening grunt and groan that passed between you and that wretched drug dealer you fastened yourself to."

Molly's eyes widen at the claim, but Lily shakes her head, refusing to be cowed.  "You said yourself that we were putting on an act."

"Nobody is that good," Moody says.  "Not for weeks. I might find it revolting and impossible to understand, but there's something genuine between you.  So imagine my surprise when I hear that he's disowned you in the middle of Diagon Alley.  Not an argument at home, not a fight over the dishes or over who ate the last chocolate frog - but he hoards up all of his venom for a bitter, spiteful, angry attack on your blood status in the middle of the wizarding shopping district.  It's funny."  

"It's not funny."

"It's _odd_ ," he clarifies.  "I've been doing some digging on the pair of you - on him, mostly, but you as well, Evans.  And do you know what I found?"  He bares his teeth as he lowers his voice to a whisper.  "He's _dangerous_.  Got himself in some trouble with the Muggle authorities back in your hometown, didn't he?"

"He's not dangerous."

"No?  He's hardly unblemished in our world either, is he?  By all accounts he was well on the way to being welcomed in the Death Eater ranks-" and at this, Molly gasps loudly, and Arthur reaches for his wife's hands, squeezing them firmly in reassurance.

Lily shakes her head firmly.  "He has never-"

"No!  No," Moody agrees, "he hasn't.  And why hasn't he?  Why didn't he follow the rest of the wretched snakes into the clutches of You-Know-Who?"  He glances at the Weasleys.  "Any ideas, Arthur?  Molly?"  

Both shake their heads, and although Moody stares at her for a long moment, Lily refuses to answer.  

"It's because he very publicly attached himself to a..." and Moody pauses too, a look of distaste crossing his face as he says the word, "Mudblood." 

She can feel Molly and Arthur's confusion, can sense them staring at her in surprise, and she gives a tight nod.  

"We started dating at Hogwarts."

"A wannabe Death Eater and a Mudblood.  And yet you've been together ever since."

"...we've had a wobble or two."  She risks a glance at Molly.  "What couple hasn't?"

Moody gives her a stern look.  "And is that what you'd call this latest incident?  A _wobble_?"  

When she doesn't respond, he continues forcefully.  

"Your little spat has gone down beautifully with the others - the rest of the Order is baying for his blood, and that was the plan, wasn't it?  But here's the curious thing, Evans - nobody has seen him.  The ever elusive Mundungus Fletcher has turned up to both of the emergency meetings we've called this week, pacing near the door and awaiting a replenishment of his supplies, but with the two of you out of action-"

"You deal in potions?"  Molly looks even more horrified at the thought of who she has let into her family home.

Moody glances at Molly.  "The boyfriend does.  She doesn't.  Well…"  And then he gives another twisted grin.  "Unless you believe her claim that she brews for, guess who?"

"Lucius Malfoy," Arthur breathlessly finishes.  He puts his head in his hands, rubbing his fingers over his face in despair.

"She's sleeping with Lucius Malfoy, she's brewing illegal potions for Lucius Malfoy, and you bring her here," Molly says, her chins wobbling, "to our home!"

Lily looks guilty.  "Molly, I'm sorry-"

"Evans, shut up," Moody barks.  "Molly, Molly," he says, placatingly, placing his large palms over her quivering hands.  "Evans isn't a brewer for Malfoy, and I would bet my left arm that she's not sleeping with him-"  Moody exchanges a knowing glance with Arthur.  "-although not through Malfoy's lack of trying, am I right, Evans?"

Lily daren't speak, the memory of the night in Malfoy's study burning too brightly in her memory.  

"Now isn't the time for silence, Evans."

"He tried," she admits.

"And what does your nasty little boyfriend think of that, eh?"  Moody exchanges a quick smile with Lily, the triumph written all over his face.  "I knew it."  He leans a little closer.  "Malfoy's taken him off the streets, hasn't he?"

"...yes."

"For his own protection, I suppose?"

Arthur snorts.  "For Malfoy's own protection more like.  I'd kill any man who dared touch my Molly."

"And your controlling boyfriend is the jealous type, isn't he?" Moody prods.  "He's a lustful, dark, covetous, selfish little boy."  He gives her that chilling smile again.  "Did he hex him?  Or did he channel that Muggle blood inside him and use his fists instead?"

Lily shakes her head, refusing to give him anything further - but she doesn't miss the quick look of glee that Arthur gives to Moody at the idea of Malfoy meeting his comeuppance.  "With all due respect, Moody, this is between me, Severus, Lucius and Emmeline," she says, desperately trying to gain the higher ground.

"Snape has gone missing, and the only thing you can be certain of when Malfoy opens his mouth is that he's lying," Moody says, a little more loudly - and then he stares Lily right in the eyes, "and you, my dear, are merely a pawn in Vance's game."

"A pawn?"

"A piece to be taken advantage of, and then to be tossed aside when it's no longer needed."

"Alastor," Arthur says, softly, looking horrified at Lily's hurt expression.  "She's just a kid."

A rush of anger flares in Lily, and she interrupts angrily.  "And what about you, Moody?  What does that make you?"

"Well, I," he says, with a wide smile, "am a very clever man."

Lily scoffs.  "Really?"

"Yes," he says, with a confident smile, "because you're about to be upgraded from a disposable pawn in Vance's game to a valuable decoy in mine."

There's a long and heavy silence - the room is so quiet, they can hear the gentle breeze rushing past the kitchen window, and the occasional leaf being blown along the path.

Eventually, she speaks.  "Who are you after?"

"That's why I wanted you in the first place," Moody says, begrudging respect in his voice.  "I thought for a moment you had lost the ability to think three steps ahead. Telling Vance that you were sleeping with Malfoy was the height of stupidity."  He gives her a strange look.  "I would say it was fortunate that she believed you, but there is now the very real risk that you might have to follow through on your statement."  He eyes her thoughtfully.  "I'm sure Malfoy won't say no, but I'm not sure your possessive boyfriend will be quite so accepting - even if it's for a worthy cause."

"You didn't answer my question."

Moody stands, his heavy cloak flapping.  "Vance."

_This doesn't make any sense._

"Vance is your boss."

He gives a firm nod.  "Get me Vance," he says, "and I'll make sure your man walks free."

"Severus?"  She wants to hear him say it.

"Snape," he agrees, and then he stops, and gives her a twisted smirk.  "Unless you find yourself gaining a taste for Malfoy along the way.  I'm flexible, Evans.  Just like you."

He closes the door slowly, taking care not to wake the slumbering children, and Lily looks awkwardly between Molly and Arthur, who are now eyeing her with strange suspicion - not outright hostility, but there's a troubling vibe between them all; there's a history with this family and the Malfoys, that much is obvious, and she can't work out how this is going to play out - if they're going to sympathise with her, seeing that she's being taken advantage of in a power game that's far beyond her control, or whether they're already thinking ill of her.  

She doesn't know the Weasley family at all, and the Prewetts only from the Order - both lines of this family had long left Hogwarts by the time she started - although she now has the clear impression that Arthur and Molly and Lucius had crossed paths at some point.  

But just as she was an unknown to them - a young woman in need of shelter - so is Severus.  They don't know him by name, or by sight, and perhaps not even by reputation.  All that her hosts have to go on is the tale of Severus' hateful actions in Diagon Alley, and Moody's disparaging commentary on his personality.  She wonders if either Molly or Arthur picked up on Moody's throwaway remark about Severus channelling his Muggle blood or being in trouble with the Muggle authorities.  

She wonders now if they're viewing her with pity - viewing her as a young woman who has been dragged into something awful, and with no opportunity to escape - or whether they believe that she's as twisted as those she associates with, those mired in dark magic, and if she's on the cusp of it herself.

With five young boys in the house, she can't imagine that they'll want to harbour a criminal - whether they deem her the brewer flooding the market with illegal and addictive potions, or merely the silent partner, merely the lover of the man happy to line his own pockets by the misery and misfortune of others.  And then she thinks about the outcry following the incident with Borage, and she wonders that if they're given long enough, the Weasleys will suddenly remember where they've heard the name Severus Snape before - suddenly remembering the names of the victims that were solemnly listed in the Daily Prophet.  

 _It wasn't like that!  It isn't like that!_ she wants to scream, even though neither of them has said a word - and before either of them can speak, she's up, and off, the door yanked open and she's sprinting after Moody - and when he doesn't immediately turn, she's yelling his name, all care about the sleeping children completely forgotten.  The relief she feels when he halts and turns floods through her, as if someone's thrown her into a cold swimming pool.

"I'll call for you," he says, briskly, resuming his walk through the fields.  "Stay here."

"Get me to Hogwarts."

At this, he stops.  "Dumbledore?"  There's a long pause between them as she weighs up her options, and then he laughs.  "Does he know?"

"Does he know what?"

Moody's eyes narrow.  "Does Albus know that your boy is holed up at his precious school?"

"I didn't say-"

"-you didn't have to," he says, pulling her into a sudden swirl of Apparation.


	39. Mongrel

Moody pulls her roughly through the grounds, and as his stride is much longer than hers, it causes her to move far more quickly than she finds comfortable.  When her feet slip on the dewy grass for the fifth time, she tugs her arm away from his grip, and stands firm.  

It takes him a moment to realise that she's not following.  He halts, a metre or two ahead, and sighs.  "Come on, Evans.  I don't have time for this."

"I can make my own way from here."

His cloak billows as the wind snaps around them, and he looks troubled. "I brought you here," he said, gesturing towards the gates.  "I used Dumbledore's trust in me; a trust he shares with no other auror."

"And I thank you for it, Moody."

"I don't want your thanks," he growls.  "I want you to understand that this isn't a game, Evans.  That people in your position get hurt."

"In my position as a pawn, or in my position as a decoy?"

He recoils at her words, almost as if she's slapped him.  "I'm not trying to put you in harm's way," he hisses.  "I want to see you…"

"See me what?"

He glances away, as if the words lay heavy on him.  "By rights," he says, "you should've been someone.  That thrill of talent you have," he says, waving his hand, "it comes off you in waves."

"You can feel it?"

He shrugs. "Some wield it like a weapon."

"Me?"

"No," he says.

"Death Eaters?"

"Yes.  But others as well.  Aurors.  Some in the Ministry."  He eyes her curiously.  "Your boy has it too, you know."

She didn't need him to tell her about Severus; as soon as he'd brought her attention to her supposed pulse of magic, her mind had flitted straight to her boyfriend.  She's always felt that steady thrum of magic erupting from him, but she'd always thought it was only him who had it - a side-effect of him being unable to control his emotions, perhaps - and hadn't realised she was the same.  

She wonders now if that's why Tobias eyes her so curiously when she descends on their house, as she's certain that half of Severus' physical punishments stemmed from Tobias' determination to beat that invisible force out of his son.  It's then, as she thinks harder, that she realises she hasn't felt it off Eileen, and although Black and Potter and Malfoy have been in close proximity of her of late, she can't say she noticed it from them either.   _That can't be right_.  She flexes her wand arm experimentally.  

"Power?"

"Talent," Moody pointedly corrects.  "Power is something else entirely."  He looks at her curiously.  "They should've taught you this up there."

"I think there's a lot we should've learnt and didn't," she says, quietly.

"Don't let someone take advantage," he warns, and he holds his hand out before her, a few inches from her chest.  "Can you feel that?"

"Yes."  And she can - she's felt it from Severus enough times, an invisible pulsating wave.

"That's you," he says, pulling his hand away.  "Raw, untapped magical talent."

"How did you know Severus had it as well?"

"It was noted in his file when he was arrested."

"It's unusual?"

He nods stiffly.  "There's a little in everyone, but by the time you come to Hogwarts, it's usually under control."  He gives her a curious look.  "But of course, you're a...  ...and he's a Muggle mongrel."  He gives a soft laugh.  "Quite an oversight by everyone."

"How do we stop it?" she asks.

He gives her a curious look.  "You can't just put the brakes on.  It's natural; it's within you.  It's an expression of talent that wants to be shaped, controlled, _cowed_ ," he says, earnestly.  "Once it's sated, it'll stop.  You'll still be powerful, but within parameters."  He waves his hand.  "Not this raw pulsing energy that you're currently emitting to all and sundry."

"That's what I mean - how do we contain it?"

"And I've already told you - _you_ don't."

She looks exasperated.  "You told me once that you don't speak in riddles, Moody, but right now…"  She glances towards the castle. "There's hundreds of students in there.  How do they-"

"To have it like this...  It's unusual," he says, his hand casting before her again, as if hypnotised by her. "It's not just rare, but it's _exceptionally_ rare, and it's a coveted attribute by anyone taking an apprentice."

"But what does it mean?  How do we sate it?"

"The more you learn - the more you're taught - the more knowledge that the magic absorbs, the more controlled it becomes."

"...which is why it's desirable in an apprentice."

"Yes.  No wonder Malfoy is interested in you both, and no wonder your boy wasn't slung out of magical society entirely after that debacle with Borage," he muses.  "Jigger could see it in him as well, I wager."

 _Slughorn_ , she thinks.   _He must be able to sense it - in her, and in Severus.  He'd always wanted them - one of them, at least - at his side._

"And you," Moody continues.  "I think we've just got to the bottom of why you were purged."  He gives a tight smile.  "They would've expected you to have contained it within your first few weeks of work, and when you didn't..."

"...they deemed me to be dangerous?"

"Dark magic," he says, softly.

"I've never cast a dark spell."

He holds his hand out again, and his eyes briefly close, as if he's basking in the wave of magic floating over him.  "I didn't say you had, Evans.  But that thirst for knowledge...it's a dangerous beast.  It takes you to wicked places when it can't be satisfied by what it's already been given.  Sinful places that once you've visited, you wish you'd never heard of them in the first place."  And then he looks at her again.  "He's dark, isn't he?"  

She can feel it now, that chilling edge she knows Moody has - that desire to entrap his prey.  

"You can trust me, Evans," Moody says, softly.  "Your boy has done things you'd never imagined possible, hasn't he?  He's...different, isn't he?"

She won't be tricked that easily.  "Take me to Slughorn," she begs, quietly.  "Not Dumbledore."

"Evans…  Tell me.  Has he killed?"

"Please, Moody," she begs.  "If you trust me to go undercover for you, then trust me in this."

"I don't-"

"A week!" she interrupts, loudly.  "It was meant to be a few hours, or a day or something, and we've been apart a week!  A week, and I don't even know if he made it here, and as I've been hiding in some ramshackle house in the wilds of the country, he doesn't know where I am, or if I'm hurt or dead and you're standing out here, accusing him of being a murderer, and all I want is to see if he's safe!"

He steps back from her then, as if the spell between them has been broken, and a shadow casts across his face as he glances over his shoulder towards the castle.  "You're loyal to him."

"He's loyal to me," she shoots back, hotly.  "And I love him."

"I knew from the moment I heard about it this was a ruse."

"He loves me," she says, confidently, pleased to utter the words once more after spending a week pretending that her lover couldn't stand the sight of her. 

Moody says nothing, but resumes their walk, pulling her once more towards the castle, but this time aiming at a side entrance instead of the main gates.  

"Thank you," she says, when she realises what he's doing, but he simply scowls.

"He'll be the death of you, Lily Evans," he warns, coolly.

"He won't," she immediately counters.  "He'd never harm me."

"I didn't say that," Moody argues.

"And he'll lay down his life to save me before he lays down mine to save his."

And then Moody smiles - and although his words bother her, his smile isn't unkind.  "Oh yes," he says.  "I'm most certain he will."

* * *

The meeting with Slughorn is quick, perfunctory - least, her part of it is.  She's quickly excused by her old professor, and she finds herself not caring what discussion is ensuing between Moody and Sluggy - although she knows that Severus will later suggest that she should've secreted herself behind the closed door and listened intently in case they discovered anything useful.  

Least, he would in ordinary circumstances, but the look on his face when she pushes open the door to his - their - chambers tells a very different story and she's pleased she didn't dawdle, and didn't deny him their reunion a moment longer.  His mouth opens, and glee covers his face, and he scrambles to his feet, pulling her into his warm embrace.

"Lily, Lily, Lily," he murmurs into her hair, and she wraps her arms around his body, pulling him close to her.

"Are you ok?" she asks, and when he pulls back to answer, his eyes shine and his grin is broad.

"Right now?  Never better.  You?"

"Same."

And then he doesn't give her chance to speak again - to tell him where she's been, or what she's done, or to query what he's been doing - because he's pushed her up against the wall, his lips seemingly determined to map every part of her exposed skin.  His fingers make light work of her robes, pulling them open, and tugging them off her body - and his digits graze over the old bruises he'd left scattered across her chest, staking his claim to her.  He lowers his head, and kisses them reverentially - softly at first, and then when she makes the slightest groan, he retraces his steps, catching the damaged skin between his teeth and causing blood to rush back to the surface.

"Sev," she gasps, grabbing his hair.

"You love it," he mutters in response, and when she doesn't disagree, he flashes a wicked smile.  Then he pulls free of her grip, standing upright once more and towering over her.  She rests her head against his chest as his hands delve lower, and as his fingers skate over her navel and below, his voice is rich and warm in her ear.  "Am I…  Did you-"

"No," she says, quickly, before he can fully form the question.  "I'm sorry, Sev.  It's been a week.  I couldn't not shower for a whole week-"

He silences her by kissing her, his fingers steadily caressing her between her legs.  When he pulls away from their kiss, he stares into her bright eyes.  

"How long before you did?"

"Almost two days," she says, and she's surprised at the sparkle of triumph in his expression.

"For two days," he murmurs into her ear, his fingers keeping a steady pace, which makes her squirm on the spot, "you spoke to other people, yes?"

"...yes."

"Who?"

"The Order," she says, and for this, she's rewarded with a slight quickening of his hand - and she grabs onto his shoulder to steady herself.

"Who in the Order?"

"Pettigrew," she says, starting with the wizard who supposedly saved her.  "Bones.  Lupin.  Moody.  Vance.  Gideon.  Fabian.  Frankie Longbottom."

"And?"  His voice is thick and low.

"Alice.  Marlene.  Diggle.  Meadowes.  Fenwick."

"Who else?" he hisses, and his hand briefly slows, and she knows what names he wants to hear.

"Black," and then she gasps as he speeds back up, this time applying more pressure.  "He showed me the scars you gave him."

"Did he?" he whispers, pressing her hard against the wall, gripping her wrist in his free hand, and then biting her where her neck met her shoulder.

"Severus!"

"Did he show you the mark here?" he asks, laving her bitten skin with his tongue, and she remembers the thin angry line that sits in almost exactly the same place on Black's neck.

"Yes."

"I could've killed him," he hisses, and then his hand quickens once more, as if he's fearful she'll come to her senses and spiral out of the dark spell that he's weaving if he doesn't push her to the very edge of her control.  "And who else?"

And this time she knows for certain the name he seeks, his fingers teasing her to the brink of completion.  "Potter," she gasps.

"Yes, Potter," he says silkily, and she groans loudly as his fingers dart across her sensitive skin.  "You casually chatted to Potter whilst my spunk dried on your thighs, didn't you?"

She blushes crimson at his claim - not quite knowing what's worse; the filthy words he's murmuring in her ear, or the fact that on this occasion, it's undeniably true.  As his fingers push her over the edge of orgasm, her head tips back against the wall, the acknowledgement of his sinful words on her lips - but before she can come back to her senses, his hand is at her mouth, his fingers teasing her lips, encouraging them to part.  She can see from the gleam in his eyes what he's seeking for, and she captures his long digits in her mouth.  He smiles triumphantly, and then he positions his cock between her legs with his free hand, filling her with a deep groan.

"My good girl," he says, watching her with interest for several long minutes as she tastes herself on his fingers, and then he pulls his hand free, and kisses her deeply. "Mine, mine, mine," he murmurs, gaining a steady rhythm, and then he braces himself against the wall and takes her in their new rooms in precisely the same manner that he did when they left their old flat.

* * *

She doesn't know what's causing this primal rush of possession in him - they've been apart for longer periods before - but when she walks back into their bedroom and sees him lying confidently across their bed, his body tangled in the sheets, she knows she's drawn to it.  She wonders sometimes if the darkness inside him has always been a siren call to her - he'd always been a little _off_ when they were kids, sometimes his responses to situations were a little skewed, or his reasoning a touch unusual.  

Her eyes gaze over his lean body, purposely perusing him the way he does to her so often.  He catches her eye, and then he smirks - not looking remotely concerned or abashed by the way she's greedily viewing his body; if anything, he looks defiant and proud - and then he throws off the sheets, his body's excitement at her actions clear, and he holds out his hand towards her.  She takes it, and he pulls her across him, seating her atop his thighs and sighing when she adjusts herself, sliding him deeply within her.

"You're incorrigible."

"What did I do?" he says, his voice joyful.

"Insatiable, that's your problem."

"I'll have you know, I was asleep."

"You were not," she says, pushing his chest playfully.

"No, I wasn't," he admits, "but you could've got into bed like a lady, and not straddled me like I'm some sort of hired gigolo-"

At this, her eyebrows raise - and he knows he's pushing it - but thankfully, her smile doesn't disappear.  "Oh yes," she says, moving to lift herself from him.  "I was going to sleep-"

Immediately, he spins them over so she's trapped beneath him, keeping himself inside her, and pinning her body into the soft mattress.  "I've got a better idea.  Sleep's overrated, witch."

"So it is," she agrees, wrapping her arms around his neck and reaching up to pepper his face with kisses, until he finally lowers his torso, and she welcomes him into her embrace with a soulful kiss that sends tremors through the pair.

"Fuck me," he murmurs when she releases his mouth.

And then she gives him that same sinful grin that had him lost all those years ago.  "Gladly."

* * *

 

"Sounds like bullshit to me," he says, wolfing down the last of his cereal and reaching for a piece of thickly buttered toast.

"Sev…"

"What?" he says, speaking with his mouth full, and then swallowing abashedly when he realises that the way he's eating is the source of her complaint.  "Sorry.  I'm starving."

"You're always starving," she says, dropping a light kiss on his forehead.  "I don't know where you put it; there's nothing of you."

"Burnt all the calories off last night," he laughs, and she can't help but laugh along as she spies the genuine mirth on his face.  "I'm so glad you're home, love," he says, quietly as she walks away.  His voice is so quiet, she almost misses it, and when she turns to acknowledge his comment, his expression is blank - as if he'd never uttered a word.  "Anyway," he says, taking another piece of toast, "that's just what Moody told you."

"He sounded serious, Sev."  She glances at him.  "I feel it off you."

"Yeah, and?"  He shrugs.  "I feel it off you too."  He waves his butter covered knife in the air.  "I think it's just a compatibility thing.  It means we're right together."

"But then why can Moody feel it from me?"

He looks a little uncomfortable.  "I dunno, all right, Lil?  Maybe he's got the hots for you."

"Sev, be serious!"

"All I'm saying is that I don't feel it with anyone else, not even when I'm in close proximity to them.  Not Malfoy, not…" and he momentarily falters, before continuing, "…not Jigger, not old Sluggy.  Just us.  When we're together."

She gives him an odd look.  "You were going to say someone else then."

"Wasn't."

"You were, Sev."  And now she's back over to the table, towering above him.  "When you said Jigger.  You were going to say someone else."

"Borage."

"Not Borage."  And then she dances her Legilimency over him, and he slams down his Occlumency shields so quickly, she's pushed backwards by his thrum of magic, causing her to stumble.  "Sev!"

"...I didn't mean that," he says, standing and watching her intently as she stands.  "You ok?"

She doesn't answer, but she stares at him suspiciously.  "Who did you cheat on me with?"

"I've never cheated on you."  His rebuttal is swift.  Almost rehearsed, even if never used until this moment.

"Fine, you've never cheated on me."  

He looks relieved at her acceptance, and she can't believe that such an innocuous conversation has taken such a dark twist, but now that she's pulling at the thread, she can't stop herself.  

"...but it's obvious that at one point when we've been apart, you've been with someone else, haven't you, Severus?"

There's a long and empty silence, and she stands in the corner, her chest tight, and it's as if she's forgotten how to breathe.

He sits back down at the table, his eyes practically boring a hole in his empty plate.  "I…"  And then he glances at her, and she's looking at him with such hope.  "I…"

"After that guilt trip you gave me when you thought I'd slept with Potter!"  She gives a pained sob.  "Don't tell me, Severus, it was years ago, and it meant nothing, is that right?"  

He doesn't answer.  He can't seem to form the right words, and the more he looks at her with a sorrowful gaze on his face, the angrier she becomes.  

"You know what?  You're pathetic!  You are _such_ a stereotype."

"Lil-"

"You've always made such a big deal about how you're different to everyone else - how _we're_ different to everyone else, but when it comes down to it, Severus, you're just the same as the rest of them!"

"Lil, don't-"  He pushes his chair back, and he reaches out for her, but before he can make contact with her, the door has slammed loudly and she's gone.


	40. They saw

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that this chapter deals with some difficult themes - bullying, humiliation, sexual manipulation, and has some moments of dubcon.
> 
> The characters involved in any sexual scenes are 16 or over. That is the age of consent (in the Muggle world) in the UK *now*, but when this was set (in the 1970s), 16 was the age of consent for m/f, but it wasn't for m/m. 
> 
> I think there's a reasonable argument that the wizarding world and the magical world aren't quite aligned - BUT if that historical breaking of the law bothers you, please skip the final memory. I think you should be able to tell from the conversations between the characters that it is upcoming. 
> 
> This story is deliberately set as Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings - but fandom is supposed to be fun; my aim is not to trigger anyone. So, if you're unsure about the content and/or want to check something before deciding whether to read, do feel free to drop me a message in the comments or on Tumblr.
> 
> ...and finally, I broke this chapter in half, as it was quite weighty - so there's another update coming very shortly...so not too long to wait for the resolution of the cliffhanger.

Slughorn looks ill-at-ease, and somewhat confused when Lily appears at the door to his private chambers.  They hold an awkward, stilted conversation, where the rotund teacher points out that she is supposed to be disguised as Severus before she takes to roaming the halls of Hogwarts.  

Lily quickly spins a chain of lies about how Severus is feeling unwell, and how she doesn't want to disturb him.  Slughorn doesn't seem entirely convinced by her tale - not least because he'd furnished the young couple with a full set of private rooms, and if Severus is unwell and confined to their bed, Lily should be free to lounge in their sitting room instead of searching for somewhere else in the castle to while the day away. 

Still, Slughorn doesn't press the issue; he's always liked Lily, and as he casts against the door to his private study, preventing anyone from stumbling in without him and discovering the hidden witch, he gives a contented smile at the sight of her kneeling on his comfiest armchair, a large stack of books from his private collection flanking her on either side.

"Something in particular caught your attention?" he asks, briskly moving across the room and rifling through the top few titles that she's selected.  "A broad range of subjects, Lily," he says, a flicker of confusion crossing his brow.  "If I might be so bold, I would suggest choosing a specific area and then focusing on it exclusively; flitting from one topic to another means that you won't cover any in sufficient depth, and you'll find all topics somewhat lacking."

She nods, but tips her head to one side.  "What if I'm trying to find the topic that excites me, sir, before committing to a course of study?  So much time has been wasted already, sir, and I don't want this opportunity to-"

"Horace," Slughorn quickly corrects her at her use of his old salutation, but he gives a quick nod and a smile.  "Then I would say that I am in keen anticipation of hearing which topic you settle upon," he says.  He steps away, and then back, as if he's deciding on whether to speak. 

Lily notes his action, and puts her finger between the pages she's on, and closes the book, trying to coax him non-verbally to say what's on his mind. 

"...I am aware that this arrangement suits you and Severus," he says, eventually, "but I also feel quite fortunate."

"Sir?"

"I always wanted you as my apprentice, Lily Evans," he says, teasing his moustache as he speaks.  "And before these dratted laws, I thought it was a given."

"I thought you might have had your eye on Severus, sir."

"Horace," he says, again, and he sighs.  "I am not disparaging the boy.  You both have potential."  

And she wonders then if he means that thrill of magic that Moody was so enraptured by, but before she can ask him, Slughorn checks his watch. 

"I must away to class," he says. "Don't wander out of here until I return," he warns, "it's imperative that nobody spies you."

"Yes, Horace."  

She wasn't going to move anyway; she had no desire to explore the castle and accidentally run into Dumbledore, and she certainly didn't want to head back to see Severus - and leaving Hogwarts entirely would be a fool's errand in this climate.  As furious as she was with Severus, it had taken her a week to get into the castle, and she's aware that the next time, she might not be quite so fortunate.

"Have fun," he calls, as he closes the door and locks it behind him, and she curls up on the chair, a large book levitating before her.

* * *

Slughorn wakes her a few hours later, and her neck is aching from being twisted into an awkward position.  She thinks he might be displeased, but to her surprise, Slughorn has a knowing smile on his face, and he merely chortles at the sight of her.

"Sorry, Horace," she says, stretching into a yawn.

"I suspect that your boyfriend is also ailing from exhaustion, as opposed to needing the hospital wing?  Don't trust yourselves to be in the same room together?"  He gives another knowing laugh. 

She doesn't mind the insinuation, after all, he's almost right - she is exhausted because she was up for most of the night with her boyfriend - but she suddenly feels uncomfortable; Slughorn has started to shuffle around the room, and his deliberate actions are clearly an unsubtle method of making her aware that his hospitality has come to an end.  She knows it's rude, but she isn't sure she wants to return to Severus - so despite it being socially impolite and increasingly awkward, she remains seated, eyes fixed on her book.

"I am terribly sorry, Lily," he says, reluctantly, when she doesn't make to move of her volition, "but I have a Slug Club meeting and you really cannot be down here when the students-"

"Sorry, Horace," she says, closing the book and standing quickly.  "I didn't mean to impose.  I am very grateful for you permitting me to be here today."

"You're welcome," he says, watching as she tidies behind her before leaving.  "Now, Lily, I don't intend for us to start your independent study until the end of the month," he says, as she reaches the door.  "That's when Severus will be called to go to Belby.  I've already explained to Severus that he should take this time to relax, and I recommend you do the same - don't burn yourself out trying to get ahead.  Enjoy your little holiday together," he adds, with an unsubtle wink.  "I won't disturb either of you unless absolutely necessary."

* * *

_A holiday.  It should've been blissful_ , she thinks, as her hand encircles the doorknob, and she twists it firmly.  It takes a moment for her eyes to adjust as the room is shrouded in darkness, and she fumbles her way through the rather sparse office. She would ordinarily cast Lumos to guide her, but there's part of her that doesn't want to signal her return - _silly_ , she thinks, _he's probably already heard you_.  

She isn't sure what she wants to happen next - isn't sure if she wants him to beg for forgiveness, or to pretend it didn't happen - and she finds herself holding onto the next closed door for rather too long as she mulls over what she wants to happen next.

She listens carefully, trying to hear that telltale clink of glass on glass, but to her surprise, it doesn't come.  He's always been a drinker, and there's part of her that worries that when she opens the door, that's how she's going to find him - drunk and bitter, anger and alcohol coursing through his body in equal measure - but when she moves into the sitting room, she's surprised to see it's dark as well.   _He's in bed?_

And then, she pushes the bedroom door open, and with the rest of the rooms empty, it's no real surprise to find him there.  He hasn't lit the wall torches, and there's just the glow from the fire lighting the room, which shines an odd flickering amber glow across the furniture.  He's sitting on the floor, his knees pulled up to his chin, and the fire casting an odd shadow against him. 

As she blinks rapidly, the low light not giving her much opportunity to view her surrounds, she notices that he's changed the sheets on the bed, and it's neatly made - unrumpled, uncreased; he's clearly not been in it without her, nor even sat on it.

"I didn't know if you were coming back," he says, gruffly.

"I fell asleep in Sluggy's office," she says, just as stiffly, her hand unconsciously reaching to her sore neck, and rubbing the aching spot.

"Come here," he says, spreading his legs, and tapping the floor between them. 

She hesitates, and after a long pause she acquiesces to his wish, settling her body between his legs, and she hears his steady exhale of relief behind her.  She feels his hands on her neck and shoulders, and he carefully collects her hair into a bunch, and then places it over her left shoulder. 

"Tell me if it's too hard," he says, and then his hands start kneading and pressing the muscles in the top of her back, and across the base of her neck.  He's patient and tender, and he massages her for a long time before she groans, indicating that he's finally hit the right spot, the trapped nerve finally releasing under his careful ministrations.

"Thank you," she says, softly, and he slowly draws his hands away, as if he's reluctant to lose his excuse to touch her.

"Did you just sleep?" he asks.  His voice is deliberately gentle, and without seeing his expression, she can't make out his motive.  "At Sluggy's?" he prompts, when she doesn't immediately answer.

"...I started to read," she says.  "But I was tired."

"Anything inter-"

"No, Sev," she says, quickly, turning to face him.  "I can't do this."

He looks injured at her comment, and he glances away, staring at the blank wall over his shoulder.  "I was only-"

"I can't sit here and make small talk with you," she says, the words spilling from her.  "I can't sit here between your legs, with you touching me like that, and you murmuring in my ear, because I know how it'll end up."

"I only asked what you were reading."

"And one question will lead to another, and then before we both know it, you'll end up fucking me on the floor," she says, simply.

He smirks at that.  "And is that so bad?"

"No," she says, pushing his knee.  "But we do this every time, and it doesn't solve anything."

"Well," he says, standing up and brushing himself down, "I'm glad you came back, because whilst you were snoozing, I came up with the answer to our problem."

It's her turn to shoot an incredulous look in his direction.  "...oh?"

He reaches down, and she takes his hand and allows him to pull her upright - and when she's standing, he frames her face with his hands and then he very gently strokes her temples with his forefingers.  "I want you to break into my mind and examine my memories."

"Sev, no…"

"Shhh," he says, leaning forward to rest his forehead against her own.  "You said it yourself, we've been here before, and Lil, I know we said we were going to talk more...be more honest…" 

She can hear his boot scuffing awkwardly against the ground. 

"...I can't, Lil. I'm not that sort of a guy."

"I can't just march into your mind and take whatever I want."

"You can," he says, "if you're going to stay with me," and then he looks as if he's been hit by a wave of nausea at the idea she might leave.  "You need to know the truth.  It's easier if you just see it."

"But your memories are what makes you…  Giving someone else that power over you..."  She looks solemn.  "That book warned against the overuse of Legilimency; it warned about the dangers of rifling through someone's brain without being skilled-"

"You're brilliant," he says, quickly.  "The most brilliant witch I've ever met, and I trust you.  I trust you to do it properly, and I trust you not to abuse the offer - to know your limits, and to know mine too."

"It's too much," she argues.  "What if I get it wrong?  If I slip, and if I see something you wanted to keep private-"

"You won't," he says, and then he flashes her a quick grin.  "Most of it you already know," he says, "and the rest is pretty boring."

She knows that isn't true - she knows what it's taken for him to make such an offer.  His usually impassive dark eyes are expressive, his face imploring, and eventually, she nods her agreement.  "We can try."

"Good," he says, his eyes briefly closing, and he reaches for her hand, giving it a tight squeeze.  "You know I'm a bit fucked up, right?"  He swallows hard, and when he opens his eyes again, she can see unshed tears lining his eyes.

"I wouldn't have you any other way," she says, pulling his head to hers.

"That's a relief," he says, with a tight smile.  "Else you might see something and pack your bags anyway."

"...is it that bad?  You...and this _woman_?"  She almost spits the word, her chest tightening again at the thought of him being with another.

He shoots her a sad smile.  "I don't think what you're going to see is anywhere near what you've imagined."  And then he looks downcast.  "But…there's a lot of stuff that..."  He trails off, and then he shakes himself and gives her a tight smile.  "This is why we're doing this, right?  So I don't have to put it into words."  He jumps on the bed then, a sudden spring in his step.  "Come on, love, get your wand and do your worst."

She slides her wand out of her sleeve, and she sees the slight tremor in his hand as he sits cross-legged on the bed.   _You've got two choices, Lil,_ she thinks.   _You either hope that this is nothing - like you and Potter - and you can carry on as you were before, or you need to decide that whatever happened is long in the past, and a man who is willing to let you rummage in his head to keep hold of you…_

"Before I get too scared, love," he says, breaking her concentration.  He gives her a weak smile and pats the bed before him.  "I thought we'd sit somewhere soft in case I accidentally pull my shields down without meaning."  He looks a little ashamed.  "Like earlier. I didn't mean to-"

"Stop apologising," she says, moving to sit in front of him.  She sits there for a moment, her wand twirling between her hands, and she can see that he's becoming increasingly tense.  Without thinking, she reaches up and kisses him. 

He's hesitant to respond, but as she kisses him more insistently, he reacts, his arms cradling her to him.  She smiles when she pulls away, satisfied that he's calmed, and then, one hand braced against his chest, she holds her wand up in front of his eyes, and whispers the spell.  "Legilimens!"

* * *

She's never actively hunted for a memory before; her efforts until now have been focused on trying to glimpse a thought at the forefront of someone's mind, and although she's read the chapters on Occlumency that Severus is studying as well as her own chapters on Legilimency, neither of them prepare her for the cavern of swirling thoughts that she finds herself wrapped in.  There's wisps of smoke, of various colours, all swirling and pulsing through the air - some solidify into full lines, and some are loosely entwined with others, and many of them are knotted tightly together.

She takes a deep breath and remembers the breathing exercise that's listed in the front of the book, and tries to stop overthinking the process.  She focuses on the fact that Severus wants her to understand him, so he'll be pushing key memories to the fore, and when she looks back at the confusing swirl, she can see one that's blinking and flashing and practically screaming for her attention.  She reaches for it, and as she grabs at it, it wraps around her, cocooning her, and she almost gasps when she's pulled into a firm vision.

"You've got it, love," she hears him whisper, as the images flit across their minds together.

* * *

"What's Malfoy doing sending you a parcel so soon after Christmas, Snape?" Avery asks, his expression clouded.  "Are you sure you're not bending over for him?"

"Get fucked, Ave," he spits.

_The venom takes her by surprise; she didn't expect his emotions to be carried over, but when she pauses and thinks, it makes sense - what are memories, but a flurry of colour and sound and emotion?_

"That's what he's saying," Rosier lazily chips in from the corner of the common room.  "You know the rumours about Malfoy.  Why else would he be sending you expensive parcels-"

"It's my birthday, you dunderheads."

"What are you?  Fifth year?  Sixteen?"

"Yes," he says.

"Happy Birthday, Snape," Rosier drawls.

"Thanks."  

 _But he's quickly distracted, and she can feel first his surprise - and then his horror as the parcel is taken from him._

"Come on, lads," he protests.

"Jazz mag, jazz mag, jazz mag," Avery says, pulling the contents of the box apart.  "Snape, do you do anything but wank?"

"Ave, for fuck's sake-"

"Hey," says Mulciber, leaning in and pulling out a calling card, and then showing it to Avery.  "This is for Discrete Knights."

"What's that then?"

"The knocking shop down Knockturn," Rosier says, with a laugh.  "Looks like he's sick of sending you jazz mags, Snape."

"Let me see," Avery says, grabbing the card and twisting it over in his hands, his mouth gaping when he reads the back.  "He's put money on an account, Sev."

"Sev is it now?" he says, bitterly.

"You've got enough money here for two whores," he says, excitedly.  "I could go with you.  What do you think?"

"Sounds like a bloody marvellous idea to me," Mulciber says.  "I'm sick of the pair of you playing with yourselves behind your curtains every night.  I've told you before, curtains are not walls."

Both boys look embarrassed, and Rosier's laugh across the common room is loud.  "Poor Mulc, shacked up with two horny dogs without a bitch in sight.  Keep your own curtains closed, eh?  Just in case the ever enigmatic Malfoy has turned this one here."

_And she feels it then - the swirl of shame and anger, all set against a rumbling background of desire._

* * *

The memory pulses, and fades, and then she's stood with the two youths by the entrance to Discrete Knights.  It's innocuous - there's no sign, and the windows and doors are all painted in a shade of dark purple, and covered with thin metal grills.  Now that she's viewing it in Severus' memory, she can remember going past it herself, but she hadn't given it a second glance, and would never have guessed what sort of establishment it was.

"Go on then," Avery says, pushing him forward.  "It's your name on the account."

The next flashes of memory move faster, as if affected by time, or if he's tried desperately to block them - and there's a woman, and a thick ledger, and her nails are long and brightly painted, and she licks her fingers as she turns the pages, and then she makes marks with her quill, and she sends both of the boys through a beaded curtain.

Avery looks excited, and disappears through one door, and then she sees Severus turn to the line of girls, and he looks awkward and terrified as he points one out, and as they move into the room, she's almost overwhelmed by the desire to be sick.  To her surprise, she realises it isn't her urge; it's his.  

The memory jolts again, and he's crouched in the corner of a room, bent over a bin and throwing up.

"If you see Mary," the woman is saying to him, "she'll refund you."

"I don't want to come back," he says, and then he winces as she looks offended. "It's not you.  You're very...nice."

She laughs.  "It's no skin off my nose," she tells him.  "Easiest galleons I've made all day."  She eyes him curiously.  "Birthday?"  

When he nods, she laughs again. 

"Hogwarts students," she says, knowingly.  "Slytherin?"

He nods.

_If she can guess the house, how often does this happen?_

"You Purebloods are all the same," she sniffs.  "It's not a badge of shame, virginity.  It's not something you need to get rid of the moment you turn sixteen."

* * *

And then it swirls. There's a flash of him and Lily, a flash of them holding hands awkwardly whilst watching Quidditch - and she remembers this herself.  He isn't to know, but she'd intended to slide her hand into the pocket of her robes, but she'd missed, and slipped her hand into his, and to her shock, he'd accepted it and hadn't pulled away. 

They'd sat there for over an hour, with neither of them daring to move - not daring to pull their hands apart to clap, reluctant even to let go when the match was over, but never mentioned by either of them afterwards.  It's as odd seeing it from his perspective, and bizarre to feel him as confused by the situation as she was - but there's something else mixed in with his uncertainty; cautious happiness.

* * *

And then he's back at Discrete Knights, in a different small room, with a different woman - and she's peering at him in surprise.

"You one of those talkers then?"

"A talker?"

"Some people get off on that," she says, matter-of-factly.  She passes him a card.  "It's cheaper to Floo if you don't want to be touched and you just want to talk dirty."

_And there's that flicker of shame again._

"I'm just waiting for my mate," he says, awkwardly.

"...it's even cheaper to wait outside."  And then she gives him a knowing smile.  "You don't want him to know you're not shagging as well, is that it?"

He nods, looking as if he wants to be anywhere but in this tiny room.

"Well, you could at least make some noises," she says, putting her knee on the bed and bouncing it until the springs squeak.  "Doesn't do any good for my reputation out there if it doesn't sound like you're having a good time."

* * *

The scene pulses again, and this time, the memory is a fleeting swirl - they're in the Slytherin dormitories, and Avery is leaning into Severus' four poster bed.

"Ave, give it a rest, will you?"

"I'm just saying you could ask."

"Isn't twice enough?"

Avery gives him a weird look.  "Twice in an afternoon, maybe.  ...I could go every week.  Every day!"

"Do us all a favour, and ask Malfoy, Snape," Mulciber shouts across the room.  "He won't do it for Ave here, but he'll do it for you.  He can afford it."

* * *

"Enough," he suddenly shouts, and she retreats.  He lies back on the bed, and there's sweat on his brow, and he's panting heavily.

"Sev-"

"I'm ok," he says, resting his forearm across his head, and looking the complete opposite.  "I just…  It's intense."  He gives her a curious look.  "Well?"

She isn't quite sure what the meaning of all these scenes are, and she's terrified that when she breaks back into his mind, she's going to see him finally hooking up with a prostitute - worse, choosing to pay for sex whilst he's meant to be seeing her - but she trusts that he must have reason for showing her these oddly embarrassing moments. 

"Well," she carefully ventures, "I know now why you wouldn't show me what Lucius Malfoy sent you for your birthday."

He gives a lopsided smile.  "I did!"

She frowns, and then it dawns on her.  "...that magazine under your mattress at your mum and dad's."

"Yeah, it was in the box," he says.  "That was the best one - my favourite."

"I could tell."

He laughs again, and reaches for her hand.  "Let me have a glass of water, and we'll go again, yeah?"

* * *

The next memory moves faster, and is choppier - he's quite a bit older, and he's at Malfoy Manor, that much she can determine, but there's so many faces, and the memory is messy; all loud music, strobing lights, and people shouting.  He's drinking too much, and she can feel his actions becoming looser as the alcohol takes effect. 

And then the scene jumps, and he's no longer at the main party, but in one of the bedrooms.

"I was surprised you stayed behind," Narcissa says, sitting herself on the bed next to him, and using his shoulder to steady herself whilst she tugged her high heels off. "These shoes, honestly."

"They looked good," he says, and she can hear the inebriation in his voice.

"Well," Narcissa says, a radiant smile covering her face, "if you think I looked good, that makes the pinched toes and the sore heels worth it."

"Let me see," he says, patting his knee and she obediently puts her feet in his lap, and groans as he starts to slowly massage them.

"You've got clever hands," she says.  And then her eyes narrow slightly, and she puts her hand under his chin.  "You weren't interested tonight, then?"

"Sorry?"

_She can feel his desire - she can feel how beautiful he finds Narcissa, there's a thundering of attraction, of excitement._

And then Narcissa touches his lips with her thumb. 

_She can feel the urge he has to kiss the digit pressing at his mouth._

"The boys," Narcissa explains.  "They've all gone to Knockturn.  Apart from you."

And then he freezes; she can feel it, as if he's been plunged into ice, and from the look on Narcissa's face, she feels it too.

"Not your thing?" she whispers, and then she kisses him.  It's the barest of touches - her lips grazing Severus'. _The ice is fighting with heat, with a flame that's burning from the soles of his feet, and up his legs, and churning in his chest._

"No."

"Your account is well used."

He ducks his head, and lets go of her feet, straightening himself.  "I might head home-"

"No," she says, stopping him from standing.  "You're not using it, we know.  Who is? ...Mulciber?  Avery?  Rosier?"

He gives the tightest of nods.  "Ave.  ...how do you know?"

"The girls told Madam Mary that two Hogwarts students keep visiting, and one of them is...enthusiastic.  The other, apparently, just sits quietly and waits until the clock ticks down.  Madam Mary spoke to Lucius because she was concerned that he would find out, and believe that she was complicit - taking advantage of his financial generosity.  My fiancé is a valued contributor to her establishment, shall we say."

_Lily can feel the unease that's swirling in him, and the relief that his secret is out._

"Is he mad with me?"

And Narcissa laughs - it's a high, tinkling, genuine laugh - and she cradles his thin face in her hand.  "No, not at all," she says.  "It was meant to be a source of joy for you; not a chore.  You must've been frightfully bored."

"Sorry." 

_There's such a swirl of mixed emotions that she can't untangle them all - there's guilt and awkwardness, and blessed relief that Narcissa's touching him like this._

"But I want to know why," she says, touching her lips to his again.  "Lucius asked if you were gay, because there's other establishments that cater for-"

"I'm not gay," he mumbles - and again, there's a swirl of emotions. 

_They'd whispered in hushed tones about fancying men and women when they were best friends instead of lovers, so the topic isn't new to her - but she's taken by surprise at the strength of the swirl of confusion and anger that envelopes him.  That's not how she remembers him reacting to their discussions._

"They all think I'm gay," he spits, bitterly.  "They all think… Lucius.  They think that's why he favours me."

"He favours you because he likes you.  Because _I_ like you.  Because you're a talented and powerful wizard who is going to be wonderfully important in our world."

He blushes under her praise.  "...thanks."

"Now, who says you're gay?"

"Ave.  Mulc.  Rosier.  Black-"

"Which Black?"

"Both of them!  And Potter, Lupin, Macnair, Pettigrew, Crouch."  The names tumble from him, until she presses her finger against his lips.  "The Quidditch changing room is hell," he says, mumbling against her finger, "they saw, they saw when…"

"They're stupid boys," she interrupts, harshly, kissing him again.  "Any woman can see that you're not gay," she says, running her tongue against his.  "You wouldn't be so into me doing this, if you were."

As if there's a point to prove, he turns, and captures her in a long kiss, taking more of the initiative as he explores the taste of her.  "I am into this.  I fancy women."

"But you draw the line at the pretty painted whores in Knockturn?"

He breaks off the kiss then, his ears flushing, and he scratches the back of his neck. "It's pathetic.  I'm pathetic."

She raises an eyebrow.  "I am sure you're not."

"...you'll laugh."

"I promise I won't."

"...I wanted my first time to be with someone who cared about me.  Someone who actually wanted to be with me and not just because they were getting paid."  He almost whispers it, and he looks ashamed, as if the admission somehow weakens him - but Narcissa's face fills with delight. 

She starts to slide her dress from her shoulders, and straddles his lap whilst her fingers make light work of discarding her bra. 

"Cissy…"

She takes his hands, and places them on her now exposed breasts, and he leans his head back, as if he's drowning in bliss. _Lily can feel his excitement and pleasure thundering through the memory._

"I care about you, Severus."  They sit together like this for a while, his hands and lips exploring her naked skin, and then she reaches down to touch him, and he stills.  "It's okay," she whispers, running her fingers up and down his torso, pulling at the buttons on his shirt, and then returning her attention once more to his tented trousers.  "Trust me."

"Cissy…"

"I promise to make it special for you," she says, kissing him again, but he jerks out of reach.

"I'm not..." he starts, and he encircles her wrists with his hands to stop her, holding her just out of reach.  

Narcissa's gaze hardens, instantly switching from heat to irritation, and he sighs.  

"I'm not a virgin. ...I've already done it."

"And you don't want to do it again?"  She eyes him curiously, the pieces falling into place.  "Severus...are you still with this witch?"

"...I think so."

She looks dubious.  "You _think_ so?"

"We're not exactly dating."

"But you're having sex?"

"It's complicated," he says. 

_There's the first real pulse of guilt now, and she can feel him trying to shake it away._

He looks troubled.  "I don't think I should be doing this."

"Not if you have a girlfriend," she agrees.  "You should find out.  Ask her." 

He scowls, and then she taps his lips with her finger. 

"Learn to communicate, Severus."

_The guilt is growing inside of him._

He shakes his head.  "It's not just me, is it!  What about you?  What about Malf?"

"Lucius would be delighted," she says, giving him a tight smile.  "He knows I want you.  And I know you know that.  And knowing Lucius the way I do, he'll want to watch."

He knows his voice has an odd pitch to it when he speaks.  "Malf wants to watch?"

"It's the power," she says, "being in control."  At his confusion, she pauses for a moment, as if considering something.  "He gets off on it.  He likes to instruct.  I might be having sex with someone else, but it's Lucius who is making it happen.  It's Lucius who decides what happens next."

_Then there's another swirl - a pulse of anxiety, of awkwardness, of desire and of shame - and there's the briefest flash of something she's never seen before; as if he's outside and... but before she can follow that thread, it's yanked away._

"Don't look like that," Narcissa laughs, kissing him on his lips and straightening her dress.  "Sex isn't so serious.  It's meant to be fun."  She kisses him again.  "We'll put this on pause," she says, "and if things change in the future, you know where to find me."  And then she gives him a wicked smile.  "And Lucius too, if you get over being shy."

* * *

"Narcissa Malfoy."

He nods.  "Black back then."

"I thought…"  She runs her hand through his hair, pulling his forehead to rest on her shoulder.  "I thought you'd slept with someone."

"I still shouldn't have done it," he says, his fingers awkwardly twisting together.  "I was drunk, and we - I mean, us - we were-"

"We were dodging around each other, not sure if we were friends or lovers-"

"-and trying to be both, but it felt like we were neither," he finishes.  He reaches for her hand, tangling his fingers with hers, in the way that he knows they both find so reassuring.  "I could never work out what you wanted from me."  He looks almost shy when he admits it.  "When you'd knock at the door, I didn't know how the day was going to go.  Whether you'd just want to talk about music or school or whatever Tuney had been up to, or whether you wanted me to kiss you or touch you or…"

"I wanted you," she says, "I kept waiting for you to do something, but you never initiated anything.  I thought you weren't interested - I thought that you only slept with me because I kept pestering…  Merlin, Severus, I was practically begging you."

He looks stunned.  "I was always interested!  I thought you…"  He trails off.  "I never knew," he says, "never knew that you wanted _me_ at all until that day in the Great Hall."

She pulls him away from her shoulder, looking him in the eye, surprise etched across her features.  "How could you not know?  We'd been sleeping together for months by then."

He gives an awkward shrug.  "I thought I was just safe practice," he mumbles. "Getting off with your ugly friend when you were horny so you knew what to do when a real boyfriend came along."

"Sev, how could you think that?"

"I have this really cool thing," he says, a hint of mischief in his voice.  "I don't know if you've ever heard of it, but it's called a mirror."

"You are an absolute idiot," she says, pressing her lips to his.  "It's a pity you didn't take Narcissa's advice."

"What?  Fuck her in front of Lucius?"

"No, idiot," she says, kissing him again.  "Learnt to communicate."

"I thought that was what we were doing now," he says, rolling her over on the bed.

* * *

It takes him by surprise when she asks - she brings him to the brink first, her small hand gripping his cock tightly, and then she whispers in his ear.  "Would you now?"

"Right now I'd do anything," he groans, his hands helplessly twisting in the sheets, and his hips pushing upwards.

"That's not what I asked.  Would you fuck Narcissa with Lucius watching?" she repeats, her hand twisting around him, causing him to writhe beneath her.  "Be honest."

"I'd fuck Narcissa," he admits, groaning loudly when she rewards his honesty with a slide of her hand, "but I don't want another bloke there."

"Not even Lucius?  You used to say-"

He wraps his hand around hers, and forces her to move faster.  "I know what I used to say," he gasps, "but I was just a stupid kid back then."

His grip is bruising over hers, and she watches him as he tenses, feet first and then the rest of his body, and then he reaches for his wand, casts a vanishing spell and he lies back, sated, his eyes closed and a contented smirk on his face.

* * *

She's staring at him when he wakes, and he gives an embarrassed laugh. 

"Sorry."

"I'm used to you falling asleep after," she says, dropping a kiss on his lips, and then letting herself be pulled over his warm body, settling into his embrace.

"I'm not that bad.  I was just a bit worn out from last night, that's all," he says, defensively.  "Not all of us curled up for a snooze in Sluggy's study."  He gives her a curious look.

"What?"

"He fancies you, you know."

"Sev!"

"He does," he says, his hand stroking down her back.  "He said it to Jigger.  He said if he was fifty years younger…"  Severus sniffs.  "I mean, it's only Sluggy, and I think he's pretty decent, but-"

"-you wouldn't go falling asleep in his study."

"Mmm.  I don't want you being taken advantage of."  He cups her cheek with his hand, and then kisses her firmly, surprised when she doesn't respond in kind when his tongue brushes against her lips, causing him to pull away.  "What's wrong?  ...you're not still thinking about Narcissa, are you?"

"Can I see more?"

"More of what?"

"Your memories."

"That's all I've done with someone else when we were together.  Sort of together," he clarifies, briskly.

"You've done something with Lucius," she guesses, and she feels him tense beneath her.  "...you said, 'they saw'.  I want to know what they saw."

She can feel his heart thundering in his chest, and he swallows several times, as if he's lost the ability to speak.  "It's irrelevant."

"It means _something_."

"It doesn't."

"I remember you saying that you didn't fancy blokes, but you'd make an exception for Malfoy.  And now you're not interested at all, not even to shag Narcissa?"  She eyes him critically.  "I know how you feel about her.  I could feel it too, Sev, in that memory."

"I…  She's just kind to me, that's all.  Not many people are."

"So's Lucius."

"It doesn't mean…  I was just a confused kid when I said that stuff, like what you said about Alice.  It meant nothing."

"Well," she says, mischievously, "I still would.  Alice is beautiful."

"I thought doing this would reduce questions, not add more."

"Please, Sev," she urges.  "I want to understand."

He looks a little sickened as he sits upright.  "It was before me and you did anything.  Weeks before we got together."

"When?"

"I went to a party at his.  Late January, or February or something, it was.  ...but there's not just that, there's more to it..."  He looks away, and then back at her.  "I don't know."

"Please, Sev."

"It'll change how you see me-"

"It won't.  I love you, Severus.  I've loved you for years," she says, kissing him. They lie like that for an age, kissing and caressing and stroking, and she can see that he's mulling it all over.  Finally, he pulls away from her touch, and briskly nods his consent.  Before he can change his mind, she points her wand directly at him.

* * *

She's not surprised when Malfoy Manor spirals into view, but this time, Severus is a little younger, and far more inebriated.  The edges of the memory are hazy, as if she's looking through a kaleidoscope, but there's plenty of witches and wizards shaking his hand, and kissing his cheek and clapping him on the back - and the party seems to be in recognition of something that he's done, or is going to do.

She can hear a faint murmuring behind Severus; Lucius' voice, she realises, pointing out each and every influential person, and then Lucius' hand keeps reaching out and replenishing the rapidly disappearing alcohol in Severus' glass.

"Severus!" Narcissa bounds over, and throws her arms around his neck. 

_There's a thrill running through him at Narcissa's appearance, and Lily can feel him gazing at her body appreciatively.  Lily almost gasps aloud when she feels a surge of mischief build in him._

Narcissa kisses him on the cheek, but he cheekily twists his face so their lips meet instead.

"Really, Cissy," drawls Lucius, but his voice doesn't sound disapproving, and he seems to be watching on as Narcissa and Severus kiss, which goes on for far longer than is respectable in polite company. 

_Lily can feel Severus' excitement and pleasure, and she can feel him warring with himself about where to place his hands, whether to dare to slide them up to the underside of Narcissa's breasts or down to the top of her bum, or whether to leave them on her waist._

_And then she can feel Lucius pressing tightly behind Severus as Severus kisses Narcissa, and Lucius is warm and hot and hard and the mixture of the two people is confusing to him._

"Such debauchery in public."  Lucius gives a throaty laugh.  "You could at least wait until the after party, when the plebs have departed."

* * *

The memory swirls, and now, it's even more blurry - even more confusing, and difficult to follow Severus' heightened thoughts; he's excited and drunk and ridiculously happy.

"Still standing?" Lucius laughs, resting his hand on Severus' shoulder as they look out over the grounds.  It's dark out here, and the rest of the party is still continuing inside, and the dull throb of the music thumps in the background.

"Feel a bit weird," he admits. _It's an understatement; his vision is flickering at the edges._

"You didn't take any of Nott's potions, did you?"  Lucius sounds disapproving.  "He gets them from his sister, and she can't brew like you.  Merlin knows what she puts in them."

"No."

"Just alcohol?"

"Yes."

"You're not going to make it to the end of the night," Lucius observes, a hint of disapproval in his tone.

"I'm okay." 

_He's not.  Lily can tell he's not._

"Good," Lucius says, and then he twists him in his arms, and he brushes his lips.  He's not like Narcissa - not soft and gentle, but firm and demanding, and his tongue wrestles against Severus', his light stubble scraping across Severus' chin.

_She can feel his knees weaken, and his mind is a haze of emotions, but they're all weirdly blunted by the alcohol, all the doubts and insecurities overridden by the excitement and desire thundering through him._

"Malf," he says, weakly, pressing his hand against Lucius' firm chest.

"I wanted to give you a birthday present."

"You already gave me a present."

"Are you enjoying it?"

He doesn't answer; he doesn't want to tell Malfoy that Avery is the one who has been enjoying the attentions of the witches that Lucius has been paying for - but he's also unsure as to whether Lucius is even talking about that, or if he's talking about the way he's touching him now, the way Lucius' fingers are drawing down the zip on Severus' trousers.

"Not enjoying it?  Want me to stop?" Lucius asks, just as he slips his hand through the gap, sliding beneath the cloth of Severus' underwear, and wrapping his large hand around Severus' rapidly hardening cock.

"Fuck!"

_It's difficult to make sense of the rest of it - the alcohol interferes with the edge of the memories, and she can't untangle his excitement and pleasure and arousal from his fear and shame._

"Ohhh, fuck!"  Severus makes the same cry again a few minutes later, and Lucius laughs, and withdraws his hand. 

"So quick, so eager," he says, kissing Severus, and then zipping Severus' trousers back up and patting the younger man right on his crotch, his hand lingering there as he kisses him.

_The shame is stronger now, an odd mixture of both contentment and regret, and she notes that Severus hasn't opened his eyes at any point, and then she feels his blood start to throb as his excitement starts to build once more._

"Good boy," Lucius says, as Severus starts to harden again beneath the older man's gentle ministrations.  "I think you're going to be a valuable asset.  You just need a bit more stamina."  He bites at Severus' earlobe, and then whispers.  "Cissy wants to fuck you." 

_Lily feels Severus becoming even more excited at this prospect_.

Severus' hips thrust against Malfoy's hand.  "I'd be no good," he whispers.  "Not compared to you."

"You're a quick study at everything else," Lucius murmurs.  "If those whores you're fucking aren't helping, I can show you-"

But before Lucius can finish his statement, there's a voice, and Lucius rapidly spins away from Severus, peering out over the flowerbed as if he didn't know Severus was also outside, leaving Severus fumbling awkwardly, trying to cover his obvious erection.

"We're off now, Malfoy," Rosier says, flanked by Avery and Mulciber.  "You _coming_ , Snape?"

And then there's a loud snigger from Mulciber.

_The emotion this time is loud, screaming, pulsating over the alcohol: they saw they saw they saw they saw they saw they saw they saw they saw they saw._


	41. Blood be damned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that this chapter deals with some difficult themes - bullying, humiliation, sex and violence.
> 
> The characters involved in any sexual scenes are 16 or over. 
> 
> This story is deliberately set as Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings - but fandom is supposed to be fun; my aim is not to trigger anyone. So, if you're unsure about the content and/or want to check something before deciding whether to read, do feel free to drop me a message in the comments or on Tumblr.
> 
> ...and finally, this is the second half of the previous chapter, which is why it probably feels quite similar thematically.

She sits back, surprise etched on her face, and he grabs the hand that's holding her wand.

"Again," he urges.

"Sev, I-"

"If you've seen this much, you need to see it all," he says, and he forces her wand back into position.  "Do it!"

She looks at his distraught expression, and then, hating herself for asking this of him in the first place, she casts.  "Legilimens!"

* * *

He's lying on his bed in the Slytherin dormitory, and the door's open, allowing him to hear the snatches of conversation floating up from the common room.

"Yeah, I know that, Ave, but does he actually fuck any of them?"

"How would I know?  He goes in one room and I go in the other; we're not doing it together."

There's a muffled response, and then a laugh, and then Avery speaks again. "Seriously, leave off him, hey?" 

_She can feel a hint of hope in Severus - that he's being defended by his friend._

"...if you piss him off too much, he'll stop taking me."

She can't hear anymore, as Severus rolls onto his back, pulls his pillow over his head and yells into it in frustration.

* * *

The memory shifts, but she doesn't recognise the room at first - but the Slytherin banners and scarves make it clear that it's the changing room that he'd complained about to Narcissa in a later memory.  He's in a shower cubicle, naked, and his towel is slung over the curtain rail.

"Leave off," he shouts, as he sees his towel being grabbed out of his reach.  Chasing after it would leave him to walk through the changing rooms naked, but to her surprise, he's got his wand tied up in his hair instead of in the locker with his other belongings. 

_She feels his sudden sense of despair - a feeling of having been through this before._

He pulls his wand out of his hair, and casts, summoning the towel back to him.  He's obviously learnt from a previous occasion.

"No magic in the changing room, Snape," Mulciber shouts.  "You know the rules."

"Get fucked, Mulc," he snaps, wrapping the towel around him, snatching the shower curtain open, and stalking over to his locker.

"Heard that's what you did at Malfoy's," Mulciber immediately retorts.

"We all heard it!" laughs Rosier.

_She can feel the rage burning inside him - it's more intense than any anger she's ever felt in herself - as if there's a prickling surging up and down his skin, as if he's on the verge of doing something he'll regret._

And then he grabs his clothes from the locker, and storms back towards the showers, intent on changing in peace.

* * *

It shifts again; on more familiar ground this time - the library.  Sirius Black sits down on the opposite side of the table in what Lily recognises as the quietest - and consequently Severus' favourite - corner, and carefully takes his books out of his bag.

"What do you want?" Severus hisses, glancing over at Pince who is patrolling between the desks, hunting for miscreants to throw out.  "There's a whole library for you to sit at."

"It's not a crime for me to sit here, Snivellus," he says, making a great show of uncapping his ink and selecting a quill.

_She can feel the concentration slipping away from Severus; he'd been engrossed in the book before him, but now he's reading the same sentence over and over._

"Heard some good stories about you."

"Sod off, Black."

"Don't you want to hear them?  I thought libraries were good places for stories."

"They're good places for being silent," Severus hisses, glancing again at the ever omniscient Pince - terrified that she'll come over and throw them both out.

Black leans across the table.  "I can whisper them."

"I'm not interested in your stories."

"...heard you sucked Malfoy off."

_That same flush of anger roars in his chest, and she can almost feel the blood thundering around his head._

His voice is even when he eventually answers.  "Heard wrong then, didn't you?"

"Did I?"

There's a prolonged silence, and when Severus glances up, he wishes he hadn't - Black looks smug, and amused, and confident, his arm stretched across the back of his chair. Black glances over at Pince, and as her back is turned, he mimes the act of giving oral sex, his fist pumping in the air and his tongue thrusting obscenely against the inside of his cheek.

"Just fuck off, Black."

"You need your filthy mouth washing out," Black suddenly hisses, leaning menacingly across the table.  "Dirty little boy, pathetic cocksucking-"

Severus grabs his books, his cheeks burning, and stalks out of the library, Black's laughter loud and hearty behind him.

* * *

The memory shifts again - and the next scenes move rapidly.  She tries to linger, but it's as if he's forcing her through them, pushing her past these moments, and not permitting her to dawdle.  It doesn't matter - she's already got a version of them in her brain, but she was keen to see how he reacted to the experiences she remembers of their Easter break in Cokeworth - of her propositioning him, of sharing that magazine, of him exploring her body, and her exploring his - and for the first time, she feels a peace sliding across him; no anger, no shame, no confusion - just acceptance and pleasure and happiness - and she's disappointed when the memories jolt back to Hogwarts.

She recognises this one too - after OWL exams, and by the lake.  He's minding his own business when Potter and Black set on him, and again, she finds his rage and his anger oddly compelling, even though the end result of his blinding fury is that his spells are ineffectual and poorly timed. 

_She gasps at how his feelings surge - and at the point that she sees herself walking over, he's livid but powerless.  She watches herself arguing with Potter, and then she feels it - shame, embarrassment, disgust._

"Ah, Evans, don't make me hex you," Potter says, and then she sees her own fury from Severus' perspective; sees her unleash the spell with such vitriol, it knocks Potter backwards into Black, and three birds flutter out of a nearby tree.  Both boys scramble for their wands - but her actions have changed something in Severus. _Hope._

"Eyes up," Lupin says, intervening quickly.  "McGonagall's on her way."

Potter mutters the countercurse to release Severus, and she feels the crunch in his bones as he falls to the ground, just as Professor McGonagall rounds the corner.

"What's going on here?"

"Nothing, professor," the large group choruses, and the older witch eyes them all with deep suspicion.

"Then there's no reason to be out here," she determines, pointing back towards the castle.  "All of you, inside."

Most of the students obediently file back to the castle, but Severus takes his time, still collecting himself after his dramatic fall to earth.  Black and Potter eye him with dislike as he rubs his sore elbow.

"What are you looking at?" Severus hisses, when he glances up and sees them peering at him.

Potter is at his side immediately, and kicks Severus hard in the ribs, causing him to drop back to the floor.  "Evans might've saved you this time, but you'll keep," mutters Potter.

"You and your smart mouth," Black adds.

"You are a student at this school, are you not, Mr Black?  Then why are you standing around making light conversation, and not making your way up to the castle?  And that includes you as well, Mr Potter," McGonagall snaps, turning a fraction too late to have seen the blow.  "And Mr Snape, stop laying around on the floor - you've scattered papers everywhere."

_She feels it again then, that surge of righteous anger._

He kneels without comment and gathers the papers that blew out of his satchel when he was violently flung upside down.  He looks up, and she follows his gaze - and she can see herself walking into the castle with her friends, and then she disappears through the door.

She'd heard about this moment from the others in the common room, but she didn't really know the truth of what had happened, as Severus would never speak of it. She watches as Severus glances down the path, his eyes landing on McGonagall and then, only a few feet away from him, he sees Potter and Pettigrew whispering to each other, and then he sees Black standing back over him.

"Say what you want about Snivellus, but he knows his proper place when there's Purebloods about," Black mocks, "on his knees."

"Inside, Mr Black!" McGonagall shouts from further up the path, watching the pair from a distance.  "And you, Mr Snape - back to the dungeons.  I'm waiting."

But she wasn't.  Pettigrew had run up to her, and was gesticulating wildly, and McGonagall's attention was drawn to the window of the Astronomy Tower - and Potter was back.

"You got lucky," Potter mutters, his wand trained on Severus.  "Two damsels have saved you," he laughs.  "Evans and McGonagall.  Big macho man, aren't you?  Saved by girls."

"Female solidarity with Sniv here," Black laughs.  "Sisters in it together."

"Fuck off, Black!"

"Hit a nerve, Pads," Potter says, with a leering grin.  "Let's have a look and see if you're right, shall we?"

"Fuck your mother, Potter." 

_She can feel the grim satisfaction as the words leave his mouth. It's fleeting, as what little pleasure he gained from his comment is almost immediately doused by Potter's actions._

Potter swings his wand, and before Severus can block the spell, all of the fastenings on his clothes slide open, and the seams split.  He forlornly reaches to grab a piece of material - any material - but then Black vanishes the lot, and Severus desperately cups his manhood.  His anger is incandescent, but fear and mortification and shame have him locked to the spot.  

_She can feel his unease that he's holding his wand in his hand, and his hands are covering his privates - it's entirely too close for comfort, and he hasn't forgotten those horror stories that were shared in the Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons in third year._

Potter and Black have moved backwards a few steps, as if disassociating themselves from being the perpetrators of the attack.  Black's laughter is loud, but something in Potter's expression has changed as he takes in the scars on Severus' body.  Black elbows him, and Potter belatedly joins in the laughter - although she notes that it's not as hearty as usual, but it's enough for a group of students who are entering the castle to turn back and stare, and then the laughter starts in earnest.

Severus awkwardly manoeuvres himself over to his satchel, and loops it over his shoulder, resting the largest part of the bag over his crotch. 

_She can feel his relief that his satchel had remained untouched, and then the sickening feeling in his stomach as he realises that he has a wide audience._

He glances down, and starts to shuffle his way towards the castle, intent on keeping his eyes focused on the path, determined not to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing how much this has bothered him - and then he makes the mistake of looking up as he reaches Potter, who can't disguise the horror in his expression at the livid scars that litter Severus' skin.

The shame rages in Severus - it burns in his chest, and he draws himself to his full height.  "I don't need your pity, Potter," he spits, and then he lifts his head, and marches towards the castle, his chin in the air. 

_She can feel his rage getting hotter as he marches through the castle, his resentment building as his bare feet slap loudly against cool stone as he hurries into the dungeons._

* * *

Then, the scenes flash as quickly again as they had before - memories of that summer in Cokeworth, of warm ale and stolen cigarettes, and them learning even more about each other's bodies and lying on the grass by the river, and him grappling with Tobias - screaming and shouting and ripped collars and flailing limbs.

There's other mixed feelings tangled up; weird dreams and daydreams and wet dreams about Narcissa and Lucius and Death Eaters, and confusing emotions of power and anger and fear.  There's something about a howling animal - Lupin, she assumes - and there's a scrambled vision about a dying dog - but he doesn't pause to let her understand it properly; she can see his bloodied hands on the animal, but she can't see if he's tending to it, or slaughtering it, and it doesn't feel like a linear memory, but an old one, or perhaps a dream.  

She's semi-relieved that he's somehow pulling her past it, her Legilimency not strong enough to remain where he doesn't wish her to linger.

* * *

And then the memories jolt violently; it's not the summer holidays, it's long past autumn - long past Christmas, even.  Going by his older appearance, it's past his encounter with Narcissa, and past Lily's declaration of their relationship in the Great Hall.  The memory is fragmented and there's an odd quality to it.  It's as if he's been drinking, that weird wobble is back at the edges, but he's a student roaming around Hogsmeade, so he can't have been inebriated - not to the extent that he was at Malfoy Manor - and then she wonders if the memory is somehow damaged by him examining it retrospectively.

* * *

"Stop," he gasps, before she can explore the scene further, and he rolls away from her on the bed.  "It's Black in that, when I…"

"Sev, I don't mind-"

"You already know I slashed him up," he says, bitterly.  "Black showed you his scars.  Showed you what I left him with."

"Yes, but-"

"Then go past it," he mutters.  "You don't need to see it."

And she's confused at his sudden censorship after everything else that he's shared.  She's simultaneously disappointed and a little scared - there's an odd relief running through her; a relief that she won't have to witness Black being injured at the wand of her lover, a relief that she won't have to feel the surge of guilt inside her if she can't muster up the appropriate horror and sympathy she knows that the outside world would expect of her on witnessing such a scene - but it's unsettled by a burning curiosity in the back of her mind; of wanting to see Severus in control, of wanting to see the teenage boy that Black was so fond of emasculating and humiliating gaining the upper hand and enacting his sickening revenge.

"Go past it, love," he urges.  "Trust me."

She obediently holds her wand back out again.  "Legilimens _."_

* * *

He's in a boys' bathroom; she doesn't recognise it, but it's not difficult to determine - it's almost the same in size and shape as the ones she'd used for years - and he's twisted the taps to fill a pool sized bath. 

_He's elated - exhilarated; excited._

He's quick to strip off his bloodied clothes, and he shoves them into a canvas bag that she's never seen before.  He paces for a moment, watching as the water reaches the right level. 

_And then she feels it - the panic rising in him, keeping pace with the bubbling water._

At that moment, just as it threatens to become overwhelming, he dives into the pool, parting the bubbles in a smooth entry - lean, and graceful, and serene - and then he emerges at the other end, gasping for breath and smoothing his wet hair out of his eyes.  There's a thin trail of scarlet in his wake; the blood of Black contaminating the fresh water.

* * *

Time jerks slightly - now he's washed and fresh and calm, and he sits on the edge of the pool, a towel wrapped around his waist and his feet dangling in the water.  He lifts his wand, drawing the canvas bag to him, and he turns it over in his hands for a minute.  Then, decision made, he throws it in the air and casts again, suspending its descent and holding it fast in mid-air.  He whips his wand, and a flame shoots from the end, catching the bag on fire.  It - and its incriminating contents - burns quickly, the flames climbing through the air, and he can feel the heat emanating from it. When he's convinced that there's nothing left to tie him to the attack, he lifts the suspension on the burning bag, and gravity draws the ball of fire underwater where it's immediately doused.  He lifts his feet out of the large bath and pulls the plug, and watches as every trace of his deviance swirls away. 

_All is calm_.

* * *

Then the memory jolts again, and he's in Dumbledore's office - Dumbledore, and Severus, and McGonagall - and McGonagall's pacing, holding a letter aloft.  She looks pale, and drawn, and as if she hasn't slept in days.

"The aim would be to resolve this within these walls," Dumbledore says, quietly.  "This has been brewing for a while, I fear."

"I too wish it were possible, but you simply cannot sweep this aside, Dumbledore."

"I have spoken to Mr Black, and he is of the opinion that this was merely the latest regretful incident in a war between the houses. He has suggested that if Slytherin and Gryffindor were separated more thoroughly-"

McGonagall sighs.  "Black might say as much, but Potter is the real problem.  The account he gave to his parents was…"  She glances over at Severus, who is fixedly staring at the floor, his slender fingers spinning his wand over in his hands.

"You can't expel me," he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I am very sorry, Mr Snape," she says, in her clipped accent, "but something must be seen to be done.  Potter's parents - they intend to pursue it through the Ministry at the highest level, they-"

"No," he interrupts, his voice a little louder.  "You misunderstand.  You _can't_ expel me."

At this, Dumbledore sits straighter, and he and McGonagall exchange a look.

"I will tell Lucius Malfoy," Severus continues, "how Black lured me to my death.  What would've been my death if Potter hadn't got cold feet."  He looks up then, glaring fiercely at Dumbledore.  "Either Black should've gone then," he argues, "or this is just tit-for-tat.  My life one week, his life the next - the latest disagreement in a silly schoolyard battle. ...that's what you said it was back then, wasn't it?"

"Severus, we've discussed this.  You agreed that you would not speak about what happened in the Shrieking Shack-"

"I said I wouldn't _tell_ anyone."  And then he stands.  "But I should inform you that I have already sent Lucius a letter.  ...I realise that Potter's parents have influence in the Ministry, but so does Lucius Malfoy."  He swallows hard.  "You fought me for my silence.  Now you should fight Black for his."

* * *

The memory jolts again.  Lucius is stalking around Severus' private room at Hogwarts - the room she so often shared with him - but it's evident that despite Severus' threat to Dumbledore, Lucius knows nothing of Black's preferred method of murder; he's entirely focused on discussing Severus' reintegration back into Slytherin House.

"You have been making waves," he says, smoothly.  He pats the bed.  "Setting up home with a Mudblood-"

"Malf-"

"Shhhh," he says, looking annoyed at the interruption.  "And now slicing up a Pureblood in Hogsmeade.  What are you thinking?" 

_And then she can feel it - the brush of Legilimency._

There's a pause, and then Lucius nods.  "I'm going to reinstate your funds at Discrete Knights-"

"Malf-"

"-and you're going to find Avery," he continues loudly, "and make it up with him.  Tell him whatever you want about this _thing_ you have going - tell him she's not enough, tell him she's a crap shag, tell him you just wanted to spite Potter - tell him _anything_.  But you ingratiate yourself back in with your house."

"And what do I tell Lily?"

Lucius looks nonplussed.  "That is not my concern."

"This all started because of that night at yours," he spits, bitterly.  "They saw!"

"Avery?"

"Mulciber!  Rosier!  And they spread it around half the school - told everyone I sucked you off, or that I take it up the arse, and people said I was gay, or that I'm a girl and then Black-"

"Enough."  Lucius' voice is quelling, and he brushes non-existent lint from his front, and straightens his outer robe.  "I am pleased you brought this to my attention.  I have enough time this evening to pay a visit to my old friends."  Then he peers at Severus.  "And that's what _this_ is, is it?  This is a demonstration of your sincere heterosexuality, blood be damned?  Has your Muggle breeding affected you so strongly, that you are unaware that is worse to lie with those with dirty blood as opposed to those of the same sex?  Your name is to be sullied as your mother was before you?  Is it in your genes, Severus - sleeping with Muggles, cavorting with those without magic?"

"She has magic!  Malf, she's so powerful, I can feel it.  You just have to meet her, she's-"

"I don't want to hear your half-baked excuses."  He sneers at him.  "It's worse than that, isn't it?  You actually believe what you're saying, don't you?  That she's worthy of being in our world?"

Severus doesn't answer - challenging Lucius once was enough. 

_She can feel the confusion and shame and defiance building in him._

"Your housemates are stupid.  They are jealous, can't you see that?  They are sexually frustrated teenage boys," Lucius hisses, "and you are even more stupid than they are.  They would sell their grandmother to have your place at my side and here you are, paying attention to their childish envy and ruining your future in the process."  He waves his arm, indicating to the room, but clearly referring to Severus' relationship with Lily.  "This is incredibly reckless, and what for?  All for the sake of shouting to the world - a world that does not care! - that you're not sexually deviant."  Lucius looks furious.  "You are drawing attention from all of the wrong quarters, and you are making all of the wrong choices!  There are consequences to these actions, doors which are being closed-"

"I can make my own way!"

"You cannot!" Lucius argues.  "The world doesn't work in the manner which you may hope."  Then his voice softens.  "Severus...my innocent boy."  He places his cane against Severus' cheek, and it's cool to the touch.  "Tell me, are you still brewing?"

"Yes."

"Still top of the class?"

"Yes."

"An apprenticeship," he says.  "That's your goal, now."

"But I thought you wished for me to take-"

Lucius shakes his head.  "No longer.  You have earned the distrust of your comrades."  He gently rakes his cane across Severus' cheek.  "But who needs those imbeciles when you've got me instead?"  He snaps his cane away.  "Get the grades, get an apprenticeship, and I'll set you up with whatever you need.  Somewhere to live, startup capital-"

"Startup capital?  If I'm an apprentice…"  As he speaks, it dawns on him.  "What do you want from me in return?"

Lucius smirks then.  "Clever boy."  And then he beams.  "I have a vacancy for a talented brewer.  ...you've heard about Nott's sister, haven't you?  Terrible terrible tragedy."

* * *

"He manipulated you," she says, her voice low.

"Malf's good to me."

"He isn't, Sev!"

He looks annoyed now.  "I knew you wouldn't understand.  We'd be destitute if it wasn't for him - he got the flat, he got us in here, he-"

"-and whatever he gives to us, he holds it over you," she says.  "I know you know this.  You've said as much to me before."

They sit in silence - she wants to say it's a minute, or five, or ten - but it's longer.  Or it feels it.  Finally, he looks at her, his eyes dark.

"...he gets me though, Lil.  He gets me.  The real me."

"And I don't?"

"I've never shown you the real me."  The words are out before he can think about the consequences - but she doesn't recoil, and he can feel a pulse of excited magic emanating from her, which sends a dark thrill rippling inside him.

"Then show me."

"...you want me to show you who I really am?  You want to watch when I sliced up Black?  When I created the spell to gut him like a fish?"

"Stop it."

He's defensive now, his eyes flashing.  "Stop what?  You asked, and that's what I'm saying to you, Lil, that's what I am!"

"Who says that's the real you?"  There's a fizz of anger in her chest.  She's never experienced anything like it before; it's not as sharp as the anger in Severus' memories, but it's alive and growing and she can feel it bubbling in her.  "After what he did to you by the lake, after how he spoke to you in the library, I'm tempted to gut him myself.  He _deserved_ it."

Severus doesn't move, but something flashes in his eyes.  "Yeah?  You think?"

"Yes."

He snaps his head away from her.  "I'm influencing you.  The darkness, the sickness inside me - I'm making you just like me," he says, miserably.  "Sick and twisted and dark."

"You're not sick and twisted and dark."  She lies next to him, sliding her hand into his, and stroking his fingers.  "You're the same boy I made love to last night."

He gives a half-gasp, as if he's in pain.  "I don't mean to be evil," he blurts out.  "He…  I didn't…  I couldn't help myself…"

"I know you're not evil."

He's utterly silent, and then he rolls over her, positioning her wand back at his head.  "Look," he commands.

"I don't need to see.  I understand-"

"You do," he says.  "You can only understand me properly if you see it."  He takes a deep breath.  "I only stopped you before because I had to retrieve it properly.  It's why it seemed fuzzy."

"You use Occlumency to bury it?"

He nods.  "I bury a lot of things, but this…  This is one of the deepest.  ...I'm ready now."

She was curious a minute ago, but now she's scared again; scared that he isn't all talk, scared that this isn't machismo, scared of what can be in the memory if he forces it so deep within him. 

"Sev, if you keep it hidden, I don't want you to unearth it and cause-"

"Go on, witch," he urges.  "You want to see.  I want you to see.  Do it, do it now."

"Legilimens!"

* * *

This time, there's no wobble to the memory; it's as clear as his others, and it's obvious he's not under the influence of alcohol.  She wonders, at first, if it's accidental that he's walking into the same shops as Black, and strolling the same pathways and pavements - but then she notices the way he presses himself to the walls, and shrouds himself in shadows.  

She watches breathlessly as he stalks Black around Hogsmeade - his footsteps are light, and Black is none-the-wiser; he shares a laugh with Potter and Pettigrew, and he and Lupin indulge in some light shoving outside Honeydukes - something and nothing over their place in the queue, and who is buying for who - and then Black's whistling at some girls, and then he's racing up towards the Shack.

_Something burns.  She can feel it, it's a monstrous desire that's building in Severus, and she feels him tossing caution aside._

Severus sneaks across the main street, checking that Potter's still in Scrivenshaft's, and Pettigrew's with Lupin outside Honeydukes, and then he breaks into a sprint, chasing Black as hard as he can.  He can run, Severus.  He's thin, like a greyhound - his da would say like a whippet, but whippets are fast too - and his stride is long.  He chases Black up the dirt path with ease.

_Get him get him get him get him get him._

It's unnerving, the chase - the desire in her boyfriend is building, burning, growing, and the dark inside him is yelling, as if it's hanging off Severus' arm - as if it wants to whoop and cheer and scream with delight as he charges after his quarry.

And then Black slows, and Severus doesn't, and then he's on him.  Black's tough, but the monster in Severus is angry, and his wand is high, and he screams - he screams with the fury of a man who's been bullied and taunted and maligned for years.

" _SECTUMSEMPRA_!"

"What the-" Black yells, and instinctively throws his hand up to his shoulder to shield his body from the slicing action of Severus' wand, but the cuts come fast - slicing him, dicing him, and his shirt shreds, and his blood spills onto the dirt path below, and the monster inside Severus is elated.

_Get him get him get him cut him cut him cut him do him do him do him._

It's intoxicating, the mantra repeats over and over in his brain, and blood is thundering in his ears, and Black is screaming and yelling, and both of Severus' knees sink into Black's chest, pinning him to the dirt.

"ON MY KNEES," he screams, spittle flying from his mouth.  "That's what you wanted to see, isn't it?" and then he lifts and drops his right knee heavily onto Black's chest, winding him, and then his wand slices again.

Severus is lost to the darkness now, utterly lost.   _She can feel it._

_Finish it finish it finish it._

The call has changed, and the blood that's spilled on the ground, the staining on his shirt, the gouges in Black's arms - it's all feeding the monster that lives inside Severus, and the monster can feel that satisfaction is near, if it can just pull its host over the line.

_FINISH IT FINISH IT FINISH IT._

And he obeys the monster's call, his wand poised above Black, and with the terrified boy pinned below him, he traces a line with his wand, up and across his shoulder, and then slides towards his neck.  Blood is pouring from the newly created gash, seeping across Black's pale skin and staining the dirt track below.

Severus' eyes almost shutter closed in ecstasy, the glee almost overwhelming him - he's in control, and he holds a life in his hands, nudging it along the tightrope of death, and one stumble...  He - Severus Snape - is finally someone.  Someone to be admired.  Someone to be feared.  Judge, jury and executioner.  He's a god.  And he's hard with the thrill of it all, and he briefly wonders if Black can see his excitement, wonders if-

"Don't, Snape, don't!" Black begs, his eyes wide, and real terror in his eyes.  

He's hurting, and the voice is laughing loudly in Severus' head.  

 _Good_.

But there's something else now, something whispering in his ear.

_They'll expel you.  You'll go to Azkaban._

It's not enough to make him hesitate, his wand continues on its slow trail, tearing into the delicate skin, and then he hears his solemn words to his mother so long ago.

_I can never ever do it again.  I promise._

And then he halts, his wand burning at the base of Black's neck, and Black is whimpering - but Black's fear is just background noise to the screaming of the darkness in Severus' head.

_Now now now now now don't stop don't stop don't stop don't stop don't stop yes yes yes yes yes._

"Expelliarmus!"

And then Severus' wand flies through the air, spinning over and over, and skittering across the ground.  The monster in him howls in anguish.  

 _It's over_.

Now disarmed, Severus lifts himself up slowly, his hands raised in surrender, and he smirks at Potter who has his own wand outstretched and pointed right at Severus.

"He's all yours," Severus says, cautiously making his way over to his wand, and stooping to pick it up, his eyes not leaving Potter.

"I should kill you."

"Do it.  I hear Azkaban's nice this time of year."

"You should be glad, because there's a cell with your name on it after this," Potter warns, his wand still focused on Severus.

"Prongs, please."  

And then Potter's attention is drawn back to his best friend.  Black is still bleeding heavily, a bright red halo surrounding his shoulders, and Potter crouches next to him, trying to stem the flow from the wounds. 

Severus - his own wand now outstretched, and trained on Potter as he retreats from the scene - takes the opportunity to race back down the hill and towards Hogsmeade.  His mind should be full of thoughts about Hogwarts, and Slughorn, and Dumbledore, and the aurors, and detention, and expulsion, and what the Black parents - no, not the Blacks, he's living with the Potters now - what the Potter parents will say and do, but it's not - the darkness is back on his shoulder and it's howling with glee.

_Nearly nearly nearly nearly nearly next time next time next time next time next time you can do it you can do it you can do it you can do it you can do it._

He knows he should feel terrible.  He knows he should feel guilty.  He knows he should feel remorseful.

But he doesn't.

There's blood running down his fingers - Black's spilled blood - and he doesn't care at all.

* * *

He sits back from her, and he's panting heavily - as if he's just run the path back to Hogsmeade, as if it wasn't just a memory.  She stares at him, her wand held loose in her hands, and he tilts his head, his eyes narrowing.

"I'm sorry."  And he is.  Not for Black, and not for Potter, and not for anything near to the right reasons.  He's not sorry that he created the spell, and not sorry he enjoyed slicing a man to shreds, not sorry that he showed Black the door of death and almost shoved him through it, but he's sorry that she's going to pack her bags and leave him, and that his decision to be honest - brutally honest - is going to push her away.  "I'm not like you," he rasps, and his heart won't slow - the memory of the blood and the fear and the revenge is coursing through him.

"But that's exactly why I'm drawn to you," she says, and then she reaches for him.

The scream of darkness is back - it's been dormant for so long, and it's gleeful, and it's cheering him on, and he can't help himself.  He springs forward, and grabs her, rolling her over on the mattress - and then he roughly pins her under him. 

"I'm dangerous," he hisses in her ear.  "You don't understand.  I keep this side of me locked away."

"Let him out," she whispers.  "Bring him out to play with me."

The words are wicked - they're everything he's ever dreamt of; acceptance, and understanding, and the sick leer on his face grows wider.  "I'm going to make you beg," he promises in a low murmur, his voice rough and gravelly in her ear.  "I'm going to make your body sing, and your pretty mouth scream, and I'm going to fuck you so hard, you'll never forget that you're mine."

She wriggles her hand free from his punishing grip, and grabs his head, roughly turning it so she can tangle her tongue against his - it's furious and messy and without finesse - and as he's grinding himself against her, she twists her face away and bites the pulse point in his neck, and sucks as hard as she can, causing him to straighten and hiss with pleasure.

"I'm yours," she agrees, "but you, Severus Snape, you are _mine_."  Her voice is triumphant and exuberant as he slides himself inside her, his hips snapping hard against her as he fucks her as fast and as powerfully as he can.  "You're not Malfoy's boy, or Narcissa's next conquest," she pants, breathlessly, trying to keep rhythm with his frantic pace.  "You're all mine, Severus."

His heart is screaming with acceptance as he spirals towards completion.

_She understands, she wants you, she wants this, she wants you, she's not afraid, she wants you._

"Mine," he roars, and then his arms wobble, and he collapses to the side of her.  He reaches across, pulling her face towards his, and dips to capture her lips.  "I love you," he whispers, his breathing unsteady, and his heart banging, and then he kisses her again.  "I thought…"  And then he stops - the darkness is looming again, screaming in his brain.

_Don't fuck this up, she wants the dark, don't fuck this up, she wants your darkness, don't fuck this up, take her, dominate her, make her yours._

"You thought what?"

"Get up," he says, firmly.  "Get on top."  

She gives him a cautious look, glancing at his spent cock, but dutifully slings her leg over his torso.  

"Not there," he chuckles darkly, "up here."  And then he leans down and drags her roughly up his body, bringing her to his face, causing her to squeal with surprise.

She steadies herself against the headboard as he tugs her firmly into position, and she squirms uneasily.  "Sev, I need to wash, you've just-"

"Hush," he says, darkly, running his fingers along her swollen sex.  "I warned you - I intend to make your body sing.  Only make a noise when you're close and-"

She pushes her hand through his hair and scrapes her nails across his scalp as he speaks.  "Ohh," she moans, immediately disobeying his command when he smoothly slides two fingers inside her.  

"-don't you dare come without asking my permission first."  And then he roughly pushes her legs further apart and buries his mouth between them.


	42. Profitable potion

She knew that jealousy and envy were powerful emotions.  Moody had been accurate when he had described her lover as covetous and selfish, but Severus was curiously particular - he _was_ covetous and selfish, but only really when it came to her.  She realised over the years that he desired very little - but the few things that he wanted, he yearned for with an almost unhealthy desperation, in an almost lustful manner.

Yet, his desire for her aside, it wasn't entirely obvious to others.  He wasn't routinely jealous or envious, and he didn't sit around stewing about how Lucius Malfoy or Regulus Black or Evan Rosier were richer, or more handsome, or had better social connections.  Instead, Severus seemingly revelled in standing in the wake of those who had the power he sought to achieve, as if by tagging along behind, he might be lifted into the slipstream of their success.

No, in Lily's life, envy and jealousy were the domain of Petunia Dursley.  Envy and jealousy had forged a deep separation between the two sisters, their tight childhood bond ripped into a gaping schism as teenagers, worsened now as adults, with Petunia embracing her role as a social climber, desperate to outflank her perfect sister in society.  Whenever Lily visited Petunia and Vernon's precisely maintained house in leafy suburbia, an almost carbon copy - albeit with a larger lawn, a conservatory, and an extension over the garage - of the house they'd grown up in with their parents, she was always struck by Petunia's expression.  

Although Petunia's pride in her achievements was clear, she never appeared to be satisfied.  When she walked Lily through the seemingly never ending tour of each freshly decorated bedroom and bathroom, and when she pointed out each tree and bush and plant and flower in both the front garden and the back, she didn't appear to be showing Lily her home out of happiness - she didn't appear to be requesting that Lily share in her joy.  Instead, it was as if she was begging for Lily's judgement - as if she were in a courtroom, doling out her evidence of a life well-lived, of achievements hard fought for.

 _"Look at me, Lily!"_ she seemed to be screaming, craving her younger sister's acknowledgement that she, Petunia - the distinctly unmagical child, the girl who was not special - _she_ was the sister who had scaled great heights.   _She_ was the child that their parents could be proud of.   _She_ had followed in their footsteps, and had followed all of the rules, and had been justly rewarded with a perfect life in a perfect neighbourhood.

But it didn't appear to be enough, because these things were not a just reward in of themselves - Petunia seemed to need Lily to nod sadly and sigh and admit that whilst Petunia had made a success of her life, _she_ had failed.   _She_ , Lily Evans, the bright eyed, vivacious, intelligent, talented, attractive and charming girl had floundered.   _She_ , Lily Evans, had run off to some dingy poky flat with her ugly dirty boyfriend, never speaking of a job or a social life, and having no achievements to display.  

So each time Lily visited and had Petunia's apparent success pushed in her face, each time she saw the smirk on Vernon's lips when he enquired after Severus' career path, each time she saw the twee ornaments on display and the lace doileys on the dining table, she could feel her annoyance growing stronger - but she still wasn't jealous.  Or envious.  Lily could tell that her lack of emotion drove Petunia to distraction, and that next time, the stakes would be higher - the evening meal would be lit by candelabra, the food would be sourced from a luxury shop, and the wine would be of rare stock, impossible for most people to have opportunity to purchase, never mind afford.

Sadly, Petunia seemed unable to comprehend that this wouldn't be enough.  Even these actions would not cause the response from her sister that she so desperately craved, because despite their shared genetics, Lily Evans wasn't like Petunia Dursley.  Whilst Lily had had moments of doubt and of concern, moments of worry that the magical world was isolating her and that she should've stuck to the Muggle world, or that she'd attached herself to Severus without either of them considering how such a relationship would be received amongst their peers and whether it was the right thing for either of them going forwards in life, Lily Evans had never felt envy or jealousy of the type that Petunia wished for her to display.  Lily Evans had always been fortunate, and had always been competent and clever, had always been well-liked and highly-regarded.  Lily Evans had charmed parents and teachers and friends - and she'd always been content in herself to feel genuine joy for others when their lives were brushed with happiness or success.

* * *

It had been Severus who'd pointed it out to her, all those years ago.

 _"She's jealous, int she,"_ he'd said, in the days when he could barely reach into the overhead kitchen cupboards, and his voice was an octave or two higher.

_"Sev, don't be mean."_

_"I ain't bein' mean,"_ he'd said, huffily.   _"Just tellin' the truth.  Yer can do summat that she can't, and she don't like it."_ His eyes had narrowed then.   _"How would yer feel if she could do it and yer couldn't?"_

_"I suppose I'd be sad that I couldn't do it too, but…  I'd be happy for her."_

_"Bingo."_ He'd smiled broadly, showing his crooked teeth.   _"Whereas if yer gave Tuney a wish, she'd take yer magic off yer - not grant it for herself."_

_"Sev-"_

_"It's true.  Coz it's still unknown, so she can't compete wi' yer.  She might 'ave magic, but she might be bad at it.  So it's safer to bring yer back to her level."_

* * *

It was a year or so later when she'd asked him outright.

_"Do you remember?"_

_"Remember what?"_

_"When you said Petunia was jealous?"_

He'd nodded, a small frown creeping across his brow, as if he was fearful of what the next question would be.   _"Yeah."_

_"I've never been jealous."_

_"I know."_

It was her turn to look surprised.   _"You know?  How do you know?"_

 _"You ain't got nowt to be jealous about."_ And then he'd grinned.  

_"But…  My life isn't perfect…"_

_"It ain't about bein' perfect."_

They fell silent for a moment, and then she'd tentatively brushed his greasy hair behind one of his ears, enabling her to see him clearly.   _"Do you get jealous, Sev?"_

_"Me?  Nah."_

_"Never?  Not even of someone like Sirius Black?"_

_"Definitely not,"_ he'd said, his voice sharper.   _"There's things I want, y'see,"_ he'd elaborated, when she looked as if she didn't understand, _"but I'm gonna get them eventually.  So ain't no need to feel jealous of someone else."_

_"But if they're happy..."_

He planted his hand over his heart.   _"Ain't got to be happy to be content in 'ere."_ And then his hand had moved quickly to her sternum, taking her by surprise, and she'd glanced anxiously towards her house, hoping her mother and father - or worse, Petunia herself - hadn't spotted her friend touching her chest, innocently or not.  He didn't seem to notice.   _"Yer content in 'ere,"_ he'd said, a little gruffly.   _"Just like me."_

He did this, sometimes - this show of self-assurance, and it had always confused her.  He was oddly impressive, even when they were kids, even with his mismatched clothes and his unkempt appearance.  

She remembered going around to his one year, in the quiet days between Christmas and New Year, and their house was as unrelentingly miserable as it was the other fifty weeks of the year.  She could tell that there'd been an argument and some sort of a fight - that much was clear by the ripped paper streamers, and the skewed picture hanging on the wall with a newly splintered frame, and the upturned Christmas tree that lay in the yard with smashed baubles still clinging limply to the branches.  

She'd stood in breathless silence in the front room, neither Tobias or Eileen acknowledging her or doing anything to alleviate the awkwardness that she felt.  The tick of the clock was almost deafening, only interrupted by a loud swish of the newspaper as Tobias angrily flicked over another page, or the gentle huff of Eileen exhaling yet another stream of blue-tinged smoke.

When he'd finally clattered down the stairs, Severus had been as cheerful as ever, as if he hadn't noticed the atmosphere in the house, and he'd excitedly shared a Fry's Five Centres chocolate bar with her as they'd walked down the slippery cobbled streets, looking thrilled as she listed the copious presents she'd received a day or so earlier.  She'd only paused for breath when their feet crunched across the frozen grass as they crossed over the deserted park.

_"And what did you get?"_

_"Chocolate,"_ he'd said, fingering the empty wrapper that was in his pocket, and she'd had a sudden horrible feeling that the bar he'd shared with her had not been one of many.   _"This and that, y'know."_ As if hit by inspiration, he'd hoisted his trouser leg, showing her his sock.   _"New socks.  D'yer like 'em?"_

She'd never been envious, but she was embarrassed then - embarrassed that her life was so different to his - and confused that he didn't react in the same way that Petunia did; that if Petunia was jealous of her magic, then surely Severus would be jealous of her life - of her parents, and her house, and her Christmas presents.  But if he noticed a change in her demeanour, he didn't say anything - he just leapt onto a swing, and leant back, thrusting his legs through the cold winter air, pushing harder and harder until his momentum built and he climbed higher and higher.  His hair streamed out behind him, his cheeks pink from the chill, and his hands gripping the chains were bright white - and then, at the height of the movement, he flung himself into the sky, his arms pinned behind him as if he was emulating a jumper on Ski Sunday, a roar of pure joy and exhilaration accompanying his leap.

And then she'd realised; Severus didn't need to be jealous - he just saw what he wanted, and worked to get it himself.  He'd seen her attempting to fly a few years before, and he'd copied her diligently until he could do it too.  It was a good method, she'd thought, and adopted it herself - so even when the Ministry laws were handed down, even when her career dissolved and his continued, even when she couldn't function as a full being in the magical world, she remembered how he'd behaved - don't be jealous of what others have got, but strive to achieve it for yourself instead.  

Which was why it was so odd when she'd added the willingly given strand of his hair to his carefully brewed potion, and had swallowed it in one - because until that moment, she'd never thought of being Severus.  She'd never thought of what it would be like to stand in his frame, to walk in his shoes, to speak with his voice. She'd never wanted to be anyone else, and now, she found herself stood in their chambers, her visage no longer that of Lily Evans, but of pure Severus Snape.

* * *

He doesn't like it - she knows that much.  He didn't say anything, but he'd swallowed hard when she first transformed, and didn't say much else for the rest of the night.  She thought that as the days went on, he'd become used to it, but if anything his scowl deepened, and seeing his dismay upon being confronted with himself, she took care to try and ensure that she smuggled herself back into their rooms with his cloak covering her transformed face, and only emerging from the bedroom to speak with him once she was back to her usual appearance.

But as much as Severus didn't like seeing her in his skin, she could see the benefits - he was taller, which made selecting ingredients from the store cupboards far easier and allowed her to see over students in the corridors, and he was stronger, so she could add more pressure when slicing ingredients, ensuring that her cuts were smooth and accurate.  She'd complimented him before on his dexterous fingers, and they were useful in the lab too - although his hair was increasingly annoying, constantly falling in front of her - _his_ \- face, and utterly impossible to do anything with.  Being Severus was fun, really - although she had to take care to sour her expression, and not to be too enthusiastic when she ran into Professor Flitwick or Professor McGonagall or even Professor Dumbledore.

Thankfully, Professor Dumbledore's appearances in the dungeons were few and far between, although Professor McGonagall and Professor Slughorn shared far more of an acquaintance than she'd anticipated.  It was unfortunate, for although she'd become rather attached to Professor Flitwick during her NEWT studies, she held a deep seated admiration for Professor McGonagall - something she'd always assumed had been reciprocated - which made it far harder when Professor McGonagall was curt or dismissive towards her.  Or, rather, towards _Severus_. 

* * *

Her head snaps up from over the bubbling cauldron when she hears Slughorn's heavy footsteps in the corridor.

"He is doing rather well, I must say."  Slughorn's voice is loud and his enunciation excessive, sounding rather more as he does in the classroom than the tone he would ordinarily use around friends and contemporaries.  She quickly guesses that he's doing it on purpose, and then she hears confirmation - Jigger's booming voice filling the corridor.  

"No explosions from the boy?"

Remembering Severus' stern words about Jigger's desire for cleanliness, she quickly tidies her bench, rubbing the workspace down with a cloth.

"None at all," Slughorn replies, his voice even louder.

"Typical.  He spends months destroying my equipment, and after a few weeks with you, he seems to find his competency-"

"Ah now, I'm sure-"

"-what did you do to cause such a change in his behaviour?  Beat him soundly?"

"Arsenius!"  

"You can - it's in his contract.  He was foolish enough to sign it."

To his credit, Slughorn genuinely sounds scandalised.  "Don't tell me that you-"

"Fret not, Horace, that's more Libatius' style than mine."  There's a pause.  "Although I must admit to being sorely tempted at times.  Do you know how many dragon eyes the boy tore through in a month?"

It's a shock of information - the idea that apprentices can be treated in such a way and that even if Jigger hadn't raised his arm to Severus, Borage may have done - but before she can fully process it, the door bangs open and she finds Severus' mentor peering at her.

"This," he says, briskly, pointing to the cauldron.  "What's next, boy?"

"Shredded foxgloves," she says, wincing as she hears Severus' voice crack, making him sound like he's a third year Hogwarts student once more.  Jigger waits and then frowns, and her eyes widen, realising her mistake.  "Sir."

At this, Jigger gives a thin, nasty smile and glances at Slughorn.  "I thought you'd forgotten your place for a moment there, boy."

"No, sir, sorry, sir.  You took me by surprise, sir."

Jigger sniffs.  "By surprise?  You might be studying under Professor Slughorn, but I thought you were clear on this - you are still _my_ apprentice, and you shall conduct yourself in the presence of other Masters with the decorum that I have always demanded of you."

"Yes, sir."

He peers at the cauldron, and then appraises her - and she almost wilts under his fierce gaze.  She can't work out if he's sensed something amiss, or whether he always behaves like this, and then as she reaches to stir the cauldron, she spots a tiny mole on the inside of her wrist.  She almost ignores it, as she's so used to the sight, but then alarm builds inside her: the mole is not Severus', but her own.

"Professor Slughorn," she starts, her eyes darting towards the storeroom where the vials of Polyjuice are hidden - her meaning clear.

" _Master_ Slughorn, boy," Jigger interrupts, his exasperation clear.  "As your schoolteacher, he was your professor, as your-"

"Severus, go and get a glass of water.  Now!"

At Slughorn's barked command, she darts towards the storeroom where the vials of Polyjuice are secreted, and she can hear Jigger's argument with Slughorn raging behind her.

"You are far too soft with him, Horace!  You will make him weak, sloppy, a-"

"Nonsense, Arsenius - the boy looked as if he was about to pass out.  A glass of water when required has never ruined an apprenticeship."

She drops one of Severus' gifted hairs into one of the prepared potions and gulps it down.  As she puts her hand on the handle to return, she pauses - remembering Severus' words about listening in when the opportunity arises.

"Tsk!  And now you're putting the foxgloves in for him-"

"-there is no point in wasting a potion because-"

"-it isn't a waste, it's a learning process.  He needs to be aware of his surroundings. He needs to be aware that it is his sloppiness that's caused this failure, and that he can't simply stop brewing because-"

"-the boy is sick, Arsenius!"

"Sick?  Well, that's a new name for it, I must say."

"A name for what?"

"Oh come, Horace," Jigger tuts, "you and I both know that the boy is a drunkard."

There is a deathly silence.  Even the air seems still, and her heart - _his heart_ \- is banging.  

"Arsenius…"

"Don't tell me you haven't noticed, hmm?  That tremor in his hands?  His bloodshot eyes?"  His voice drops even lower.  "The overpowering stench of firewhisky in the lab when his freshening charm wears down over the course of the morning?"

The silence can only have been for a few seconds, but it feels like an eternity, as Slughorn fumbles to find an answer.  Of course, he doesn't have an answer, for he's not been tutoring Severus Snape - he's been tutoring the always delightful, and ever-so-sober Lily Evans.  

"Ridiculous," Jigger says, abruptly.  "I thought…"

"Arsenius-"

"I thought sending him to you…  But if you haven't noticed, then it has rather answered my question."  

"Which is?"

There's another long pause.  "He brews.  When he thinks I'm not looking."

"Brews what?"  Slughorn's voice is tinged with impatience - but also somewhat cautious.  She knows that Slughorn is aware that Severus brews for Lucius Malfoy, and that anything seemingly damning could be straight for sale rather than consumption by its creator.

"Some sort of antidote.  He's been working on it for a while.  Evidently it's working." There's a pause, and then a clap of hands and a chuckle.  "Come now, Horace, there is no need to look so uncomfortable.  I am not complaining about his little side brews - we both know that he is not the only brewer in the country in the employment of a Malfoy-"

"Speaking of Abraxas-"

"No, Horace," Jigger says, his voice stern, "I am not so green to as fall for that.  We are discussing the boy."  There's another pause.  "He's brewing something to counter the effects of inebriation."

"I will speak with him."

"Then I shall wish you luck, for my words on the subject fell upon deaf ears.  We both know that brewers have tried and failed-"

Slughorn's tone is jovial, but sounds forced.  "You sounded as if you believed the boy had been successful, but now-"

"Does it matter if he has?"  In contrast, Jigger sounds less than amused.  "He's either dabbling in brews that he should not be touching - brews that would send the sanest of men to the asylum, brews that may blind, brews that can dissolve your organs-"

"Arsenius, really-"

"- _really_ , Horace!  Else, he's been successful.  Successful enough to fool you, at the very least.  And he'll be filthy rich."

Slughorn chuckles.  "And now you're talking our language, Arsenius.  As his Master, of course, you'd be in for a healthy cut-"

To her surprise, Jigger makes a disparaging noise.  "He'll be dead before he's patented it."

"...I am aware that you do not agree with the Malfoy style of business, but-"

"I am not fearful of Abraxas or his loathsome son muscling in on my territory," Jigger spits.  "If the boy has been successful, then he is not experimenting-"

"-which is your complaint-"

"-no, my complaint, _Horace_ ," Jigger says, sounding out Slughorn's name as if he was a recalcitrant child, "is that the boy is brewing whatever this potion is with regularity.  To my knowledge, it has not appeared on the market."

Slughorn's voice is now oddly soft.  "No, nor to mine."

"And such a profitable potion-"

"-would not be sat upon by Lucius Malfoy."

Jigger gave a triumphant noise.  "Indeed.  And if you have not noticed the signs of inebriation that were becoming young Snape's trademark, then there is only one possible conclusion:  he's drinking to excess, and hiding it by consuming vast quantities of whatever it is he's created."

Slughorn tuts.  "There are two conclusions."

Jigger pauses for a moment, considering Slughorn's words.  "...you think he's stopped drinking?"

"He's back here, at Hogwarts," Slughorn says.  "I do believe the boy regarded it as a home-from-home, as some might say.  There's an element of protection here.  He has no concerns about paying rent, or other bills-"

"His girlfriend left him.  Hardly the circumstances to cease drinking."

"He left her, by all accounts," Slughorn corrects.  "I suspect there was some pressure upon him from his acquaintances."

"Lucius Malfoy."

"Perhaps."  Slughorn sighs.  "Severus is of mixed stock himself, as you are well aware.  I fear that the pressure of his relationship, the pressure of his friends, the pressure of expectations from his parents...  It's a lot for a young man to cope with."

"Lucius Malfoy I can understand, but you're suggesting that his parents wanted his relationship to fail?"

Slughorn gave a small noise of dissent.  "On the contrary, I believe they wanted it to succeed.  It is proof, is it not, that his mother made the right choice all those years ago when she rejected our world outright?"

"Yet he and his girlfriend did not make the same easy decision?"  Jigger makes a disparaging noise. "Especially in this climate.  They could've set up outside of our world, had-"

"Ah.  I believe he was in some sort of trouble."

At this, Jigger sounds intrigued.  "With the Muggles?  With-"

Lily pushes the door open, stepping back into the room, her arms filled with ingredients - not granting Slughorn any opportunity to spill more of Severus' secrets.  "I apologise, Master.  I apologise, sir."

"Now, Severus-"

"I thought your Master sent you for water, not for-"

But before either wizard can continue, Lily quickly collects the items on her workstation, and banishes them to the sink.

"Boy?"  Jigger is watching her curiously, his eyebrows raised as she discards the almost perfect potion, and lays fresh ingredients out before her.

"I left the potion for too long at a vital stage of the brew, sir," she says, trying to keep her tone steady.  "I appreciate Master Slughorn's efforts to assist, but my brewing is my responsibility and-"

"Put your hands out.  In front of you. Like this," Jigger barks, holding his own aloft.  She copies him, her hands - _Severus' hands_ \- completely still and steady.  Jigger nods, firmly, and then steps closer, staring deep into her eyes.  She wonders if he can use Legilimency, but she doesn't feel any brush of contact, so she decides against attempting the basic Occlumency techniques she'd read in Severus' books, lest she provoke the older wizard's curiosity.  He nods then, and steps away.  "I'll bid you good day, Horace."

"Always a pleasure, Arsenius."

"And as for you, boy..."

"Sir?"

"Behave yourself for Master Slughorn here."  He points his wand at the clean cauldron.  "This…  Make no mistake, boy, I am not impressed with your ill-health."  He pauses, and she's sure it's a taunt - it takes all of her effort not to argue back, not to interrupt, and he looks as if he knows it - and appears vaguely amused when she doesn't rise to his bait and speak.  "...but I am impressed," he finally continues, "with your acknowledgement of your mistake, and your efforts to rectify the situation.  Do see it continues, boy."

"Yes, sir."  

"I feel I should inform you that no matter what Master Slughorn arranges on your behalf, I will not release you to Master Belby unless I am satisfied with your brewing and your behaviour."

"Yes, sir."

"On which note, I am sorry to hear of your relationship breaking down, boy."

"I am not, sir," she quickly counters, her voice waspish.

He raises an eyebrow.  "And this of the boy who begged me on bended knee for not just one but _two_ anniversaries to be granted as paid holiday.  My, how fickle young love is."  Her heart skips at the information, and then Jigger gently tilts his hand, in a symbolic gesture of a drink.  "Despite your earlier mishap, I hope your improved appearance today is testament to you ceasing this."

"I'm sorry, I don't know what you mean, sir."

He gives a soft laugh.  "And with your actions today, I thought we had made progress with your honesty.  Perhaps next time, boy.  Think on it."


	43. For your pleasure

She stays to complete the potion, but Slughorn doesn't return - doesn't give her opportunity to comment on Jigger's accusations.  As the minutes pass by, she realises this is by design - she'd always liked Slughorn, but there had always been an element of cowardice to his character.  She continues to brew, Jigger's commentary on Severus rolling over and over in her head as she follows each step.  She's seen Severus drinking - seen him drinking to excess, even - but she'd never thought it was something quite so bothersome, not imagined his drinking was something his employer would notice.

 _But then, if he's taking a potion to minimise the effects, how would you know?  And when you gave him that antidote, he talked about trying to brew a hangover cure - he said he'd make a fortune_ , she remembers.  

She's relieved when the potion finally shimmers and can be decanted, giving her something else to focus on other than the words echoing in her head.  She makes quick work of tidying up after herself and heads up to Slughorn's study.  As she rather expected, he's nowhere to be seen, so she leaves the potion for him to inspect, and heads back to the rooms she shares with Severus, taking care to pull on his thick outer cloak and raise the hood as she enters.

"How long?" he asks, not looking up from the desk when she enters.  His head is bowed, his dark hair skirting the edge of the page he's writing on, and she's semi-gratified that his hair is as troublesome to him as it is to her.  She can see that there's two or three open books intermingled with parchment and ink before him. She doesn't intend to, but she can't help but glance at the bottle of expensive firewhisky on the bookcase - a housewarming gift from Lucius; his manners were impeccable, of course - and she lets out a sigh she didn't know she was holding when she sees that it's still sealed, and there's no sign of a crystal glass on the desk.  Despite having ample opportunity whilst she has spent the day working with Slughorn, it's evident that Severus is sober and hasn't imbibed in her absence.

_Perhaps Jigger's wrong._

"I had to take more," she says.  "A while.  I'll go and sit in the bedroom until it wears off."

To her surprise, he turns, and indicates that she should pull the hood down.  "You don't have to.  ...I'm sorry."

"Don't be.  I know it unnerves you," she says, holding the hood with each hand, not quite ready to reveal his face, uncertain as to what's caused his change of mind and how permanent it may be.  "It must be weird, seeing yourself.  Like an enchanted mirror, or-"

"It's not that," he says, quickly, standing up and putting his hands over hers - _his_.  It's strange, normally his larger hands cover hers entirely, but with identical hands, they fit together instead, and her - _his_ \- hands twitch under his own, experimenting with the feel of the matching skin.

"What is it then?"

He closes his eyes, and leans forward, and she meets him with a tentative kiss.  It's almost, but not quite, the same for her - he tastes the same, and his lips feel the same, but even she can feel the difference in how her - _his_ \- nose brushes his cheek, where hers wouldn't touch his skin at that angle.  She's surprised he continues, kissing her more insistently, and skimming his tongue across her - _his_ \- lips, but he does - and she wonders what's happened in her absence; what's made him crave affection to the point that he's not willing to wait for her to revert to her usual appearance.

He helps her to take the hood down, and then he assists as she takes off the cloak altogether, and hangs it on the back of the door.  His fingers fumble awkwardly as he tries to undress his own body in reverse, but he finds the buttons and clasps difficult to undo in the opposite direction, his brain being quickly confused by the mirrored image of his usual actions.

"You don't have to do this," she says, as he kisses her again.  "If any of this makes you feel uncomfortable."

"It makes me feel sad," he says, not stopping, "because I bed the most beautiful woman on earth, and you…"

"I'm hardly the most beautiful woman on earth," she argues, and he laughs, interrupting her, and stopping her from continuing her thought.  It's a gentle laugh, and self-deprecating, and his breath is warm against her shoulder.  "I'm serious, Sev-"

"And so am I.  You deserve better than," and he vaguely waves his hand towards himself, "this."  He places a long finger over her - _his_ \- lips, a flicker of a frown as he feels the roughened texture of his skin where his stubble is already starting to grow despite him shaving earlier that day.  "If I was Lucius," he says, "then this would just be narcissistic.  He's probably already done this," he laughs, "I can almost imagine it."

"Me too."

"Poor Cissy."  And then he laughs again, his fingers tracing over her - _his_ \- skin.

"It's no different," she says, quickly.  "For Narcissa, I mean.  Or me.  I look at you all of the time.  It's _you_ who sees the difference."

"And that's what my problem is, my wonderful witch," he says, capturing her in a kiss once more.  "You deserve so much more.  At least Lucius looks at himself, and Cissy looks at him, and they both see someone handsome."

" _I_ see someone handsome."

He scoffs, kissing her again.  "Liars get punished."

"Wizards with low self esteem don't get laid," she says, kissing him more insistently, trying to show him with her actions what he means to her.  "I've told you, there's no difference."

"No?" he murmurs, turning her around so he's stood behind her, his warm body pressed up against her.  His hands pull at the belt she's wearing and it clinks as he deftly unbuckles it before moving to unbutton the trousers.  It's clearly easier for him like this; just like undressing himself.  He lowers the zip, pushing the material lower and lower, and he's gratified when she gasps as his hand wraps around her - _his_ \- sensitive skin.  "No difference?"  He grips harder then - harder than she would've done to him, and she can feel blood pulsing against his firm hold.  "How about now?"

"Merlin!"  Her hand reaches behind her, holding onto his hip to steady herself.  "Sev, I-"

"How long do you have left like this?  In my body?"

"I, ohhh."  She pauses, her eyes briefly closing as he starts to steadily move his hand, and then collects herself.  "Twenty five, no, that's when I left..." she corrects, glancing at the clock on the desk, "eighteen minutes."

"We'd best hurry this along then," he says, a wicked smile spreading over his face, and his hand moving a little faster.

* * *

"Thank you," she whispers afterwards, when she's sitting in his lap on the settee.  Her auburn hair spills across his shoulder as she kisses him just below the ear, his neck being the only part of his torso exposed, his body still fully clothed despite her nakedness.

"Shhh," he says, and she knows as he strokes her bare arm with his fingertips that he doesn't want to dwell on her pretending to be him.

"How did you know?"

He taps the edge of her forehead.  "I've reached a point where I need to understand Legilimency to progress further with Occlumency.  So I've been looking into it a bit," he says.  "Not that I really needed to use it," he laughs, before she can become indignant at him breaking into her mind without asking.  "Every time you were in the bathroom and wearing my skin, every time you had reason to touch my body whilst you were inhabiting it, I could almost hear your thoughts screaming through the walls."

"Really?"

"Mmm."  He simply smiles, and she can't decide if he's serious or not.  "That and the fact that most people feel the same," he finally admits.  "I think everyone would be curious."  He grins then, and kisses her.  "Most people would've just done it without asking."

"I'm not most people."

"I know," he says, his fingers still stroking her skin.  

"I'd have felt like I was taking advantage."

"You would've been," he says, quietly.  "I'm grateful that you didn't."

"It'd have felt wrong doing it behind your back.  Invasive."

"Mmm."

"You can too," she says, leaning back to look at him, and pulling on her hair, making her meaning clear, offering him her own hair for the potion.  "If you want."

"Narcissist."

"You've never wondered what it feels like?"

The look in his eyes is odd.  "I don't much fancy being a woman."  

And then she quietens, suddenly recalling the taunting from Potter and Black, remembering how they stripped him to humiliate him, accusing him of being a girl.  She's aware of her nakedness then, sat in his lap whilst he's still fully clothed, and she wonders if this is why he resisted her attempts to undress him - wonders if his unease at her being a man, even when the man's body was his own, was due to the way that Lucius had touched him and shamed him.  The thoughts swirl in her mind, and she doesn't know what to do.  She wants to show him how much she loves him, but she feels suddenly unsure - fearful of undressing him whilst those thoughts rage through his mind, even though she's now transformed back to her usual self.

"Come on, love," he says, giving her a gentle tap on her bottom and easing her from his arms.  "Fun's over.  I'd best finish what I was working on."

She's relieved that he could tell what she was thinking, and took the lead so she didn't make a misstep and hurt his feelings.  "I'd best get dressed."

And then he smiles that wicked smile that always makes her tingle with excitement.  "You don't have to on my account.  In fact, I'm rather in favour of you not."

* * *

She casts against the door, over and over, and he watches her efforts without lifting a finger to help, a semi-amused look on his face.  

"I think you've got it, love."

"What?" she says, defensively, turning to place her hands on her hips and rebuke him - but he simply smiles more broadly, and she realises that the effect of her temper is rather dampened when she's standing before him without her clothes.

"Nobody's going to get through there," he reasons, slapping the wood with his hand.  "I doubt even a house elf would manage, or Dumbledore himself."

She pales at the thought of Dumbledore bursting in on them, seeing her completely naked - it's not the same as Severus being naked with her; there's something comparatively sinful about her parading around without clothes whilst he's fully dressed.

"For my amusement," he mutters darkly, and she looks at him in shock.  "That's why you're ashamed.  You're naked for a reason - it's not because you're warm, it's not because you've showered, it's not because you've just woken up.  You're naked because I want to look at you."  His words strike an odd chord within her, and he seems to sense it, as before she can speak, he pulls her towards him, running his hands down her sides.  "Are you okay?"

"...yes."

"It's turning you on?  Being naked for me?"

"...yes."

"Good girl," he murmurs.  Then he lifts her and carries her over to the desk.  With a wave of his hand, he clears a space, and gently places her down, standing between her legs and kissing her deeply, his hands twisting in her hair.

When he releases her, she's breathless, and she wonders what he's going to do next - but to her surprise, he settles himself down next to her and picks up his quill.  She watches him as he starts to copy text from a book, huffing and tutting regularly.  She's amused when it seems to get too much for him, and he pulls out a jar of red ink, and starts to impatiently make amendments against his freshly made notes, almost as if he's correcting the textbook's statements.

After a few minutes of watching him work, she slides off the desk.  He doesn't say anything, but his quill stills and as she walks across the room, she can feel his eyes on her, raking over her body as she peruses the bookcase.  She selects a slim book - one about brewing techniques that she can recall Severus reading during his first weeks with Borage - and then returns to her place at his side.

He doesn't speak when she sits back on the desk, but he slides his free hand up her inner thigh - and as she sits and reads whilst he touches her, she isn't entirely sure if this is reward for her acquiescing to his desires, or a means of restraining her so she doesn't move again without his prior permission.

* * *

He's been calm and happy all evening, which is a welcome change to the stress of the previous few months.  She's content in his presence, sat in comfortable silence - and as the candle on the desk starts to flicker, the yellow flame touching the pool of liquid wax instead of solely the wick - he closes his books and sits back.  He doesn't speak, but she can tell that there's an elation and a playfulness to him that's been missing for so long - she can feel his excitement prickling the air, his magic almost tangible as it pulses and surges around them.  He moves methodically through their rooms, dousing the lights, and urging her to walk two paces ahead, affording him a wonderful view of her naked body.

When they reach the bedroom, he shuts the door, and then he stands behind her, his voice silken in her ear.  "Did you enjoy that as much as I did, love?" 

She doesn't answer, and he presses himself against her, making sure she feels his erection through his clothes. 

"Too embarrassed to admit it?" he guesses.  "Only one way to find out," - and her breath hitches, her hands reaching around him as his long fingers delve once more between her legs.  "Oh yes.  I think you liked being on display for me very much."

She squirms on his hand, her feelings racing - she's both oddly turned on and yet somehow a little unsure of the game that they've been playing.  

"Yes," he says, twisting his fingers as she moves, rewarding her gasping dance with more and more pleasure.  "Tell me, love, tell me and I'll give you everything you want."

"Sev…"

"Everything.  For as long as you can stand it.  Until you beg me to stop."

Her voice is barely a whisper.  "...yes."

"I can't hear you, love," he says, his voice teasing, and his fingers unrelenting.

"...yes, I enjoyed it."

"And what is _it_ precisely?"  His voice sounds huskier than normal, as if he's aroused by making her vocalise her pleasure and it's clear that he's going to make her say it if she wants him to fulfil his promise - which sends another odd excited tremble through her, magnified by his delicate touch.

"...I enjoyed being on display for your pleasure."

"Yessss," he hisses, and he picks her up and carries her to the bed where he lays her down, intent on finishing what his new game and his experienced hands have already started.

* * *

She stirs in their bed, her hand fumbling for him in her slumber, and when she can't locate him lying next to her, her eyes snap open.  "Sev?"

"Mornin'," he says, cheerfully, his accent briefly slipping back to their days in Cokeworth.  He looks relaxed and comfortable, his shoulder bearing his weight against the door frame.  "Well, aft'noon."

She moves then, panicked at it being so late - but he's quickly by her side, his fingertips gently touching her cheek.  She finally takes in his appearance and realises that he's not dressed for the day either - well, he's wearing those awful shorts, but that hardly counts as sensible clothing.

"I'm sorry."

There's the slightest movement of his eyebrows, an almost frown skirting across his brow.  "What are you sorry about?"

"For sleeping in."

"I wore you out," he says, with a wicked grin.  "Besides, it's Saturday - who cares what time we get up?"  He kisses her, his fingers not moving from her cheek, and as she sighs happily, he pulls back.

"I need a shower," she says, lifting the covers, signalling her intention to get out of bed.

"Thought we could take it easy.  Today.  Do some reading," he says.  "Got my notes out for you."

"Your notes?"

"From Borage, when I started studying under him."  He scratches the back of his neck.  "I've got the original books too, if you'd rather read the source material, but-"

"I know how you feel about textbooks.  I _saw_ last night!"  She laughs at his defensive scowl.

"You can have the books."

"I'd rather read your notes.  ...thank you."

He nods then, her compliment soothing the perceived slight.  "I'll make you a drink whilst you shower."

* * *

If he's surprised when she sweeps into the room fully clothed, he doesn't say anything - but he makes no move to change from his own minimal attire.  There's a cup of tea for her on the side, as he'd promised, and he silently breaks several chunks off a large slab of chocolate and hands them over, before tossing a piece in the air and catching it in his mouth, a triumphant - and somewhat childish - smile adorning his face.

She flicks through the notes he left for her, and he resumes his reading.  His notes are detailed and his writing is cramped, and although the topic intrigues her, she finds her eyes drifting from the page to study him instead of the words on the page.  He's compelling even now, even as he's utterly engrossed in his book, his forefinger toying with his bottom lip as he considers the theories raised by the author.

She wonders then, if his choice of wearing his shorts is deliberate - a way of showing her that last night was a one-off; that it wasn't something he expected her to do all of the time.  She idly flips another piece of parchment, and then wonders if it's the opposite - if he's wearing little as a way of cajoling her into doing the same - but then she figures that it doesn't make sense.  Half of the thrill of the night before had stemmed from him being entirely opposite to her, fully clothed whilst she-

"Just ask, love," he says, firmly, but with an amused tinge to his voice.

She can't help feeling defensive as he catches her staring at him.  "Ask what?"

"Your thoughts are practically screaming at me; I'm surprised one of the house elves hasn't responded."

"Really?  So what am I thinking?" she challenges, her eyes narrowing at his continued amusement.

He puts his book down.  "We need to talk about yesterday."

"Why did you ask me to do it?"

"Why did you do it?" he immediately counters.

"I asked first."

He laughs, offering her the bar of chocolate, and then sitting back on the settee, his eyes not leaving her.  " _You_ did it because it turned you on," he says.  "You did it because it felt wrong.  You did it because it went against everything you believe in - being objectified, your sole purpose being my pleasure.  It's humiliating."

She colours then.  "That isn't what I asked."

"It is.  Because I am your equal and your opposite.  Iasked you to do it because it turns me on."

"You enjoy humiliating people?"

"...no.  I enjoy seeing the most powerful woman I know - the most attractive, the most talented, the most intelligent woman I know - doing something that unnerves her because she knows it will bring me pleasure."  He reaches forward, cradling her face in his hand.  "I like that power.  Lucius…  He forces people.  He Imperiuses them, he binds them, he removes their voices so they can't dissent.  ...I don't think that's power.  Not true power."  He gives her a dark look.  "Power isn't removing someone's agency.  True power is giving them a choice and-"

"Them agreeing?"

"I wouldn't say agreeing.  Power is me suggesting it and you actively choosing.  You _chose_ to prioritise my desire and pleasure and-"

"-but I enjoyed it too."

"I know you did."  He gives her a lazy smile.  "You prioritised my pleasure over your discomfort, over your sense of unease.  You didn't prioritise my pleasure over your own.  And I wouldn't ask you to."  He leans in closer then, and touches his lips to hers.  "I want you to get as much enjoyment from this as I do.  I rewarded your bravery richly last night, did I not?"

There's a surge of heat in her chest at the memory of the night before, and she leans her head forward, her forehead settling against his, her voice just a whisper.  "How long have you wanted to play like this?"

"Almost as long as you've wanted me to."

"Years," she breathes, wanting him to say it.

His agreement is quick, and eager.  "Yes."

"Then why didn't you?  Why now?"

He doesn't want to bring Lucius into it again; he doesn't want to tell her that he'd clued him in to her desires - doesn't want to tell her that he'd always wondered, always hoped, but had always talked himself out of it, doesn't want to acknowledge that Lucius' terrible methods had rewarded them both.  

He breathes in deeply, and settles on the truth - the _other_ truth.  "Because of the world we live in.  Because you were being told by our society that you weren't a witch - that you were less than a person.  You were told that you weren't worthy to be my partner.  My equal.  You lost your job, and your status, and your ability to move away from me.  I know what it feels like when someone takes your choices from you.  I know what it's like when someone hurts you, or humiliates you.  I know what it is to be shamed, and mocked."  He gently presses his lips to hers.  "I have no wish to submit to another," he says, softly, "and I know what it's like to be powerless.  ...this needed to be a choice.  Your choice.  You're safe here - you're not alone with me.  If you said no, and you feared my reaction, you could call on the inhabitants of the castle to intervene.  And you needed to know that it was about excitement and pleasure, for both of us.  This isn't me agreeing with the twisted version of our world that the Ministry is conjuring up - me asking this of you isn't me agreeing with them.  You're the same feisty, powerful, talented witch that I met all those years ago - and that's what makes this all the more exciting for me."

She kisses him so hard then, trying to show him that he's right - that she wants this as much as he does, and he reacts instantly, meeting her every movement.  He happily lets her take the lead, but he matches every touch of her mouth - every kiss, every bite, every slip of her tongue - with one of his own.

"Sev, can I ask you something?"

"Anything," he hisses, as she bites the lobe of his ear.

"Not about this."

He pauses then, his expression darkening.  "...what about?"

"Did you cut down on your drinking?"

"You said I should."

She gives a wry smile at his deflection.  "And did you?"

"...yes."

"Jigger thinks you're a drunk."

He gives a soft laugh.  "Jigger visited, did he?"

"Yes.  He was pleased that I - _you_ \- seemed sober."

"He's got a cheek," he grumbles.  "Do you think I look like a drunk?  You live with me.  You put up with my drunken behaviour of a night, and my hangovers in the morning."  He doesn't let her answer then, he presses his mouth against hers in a bruising kiss, his tongue sliding between her lips, leaving her breathless when he pulls away.

"...no."

"Well then," he says, triumphantly.  "Bloody Jigger."

"But he thinks you've created a potion."  She looks into his eyes, but he doesn't answer instantly this time, and now that she senses something is amiss, she can't help but pull the thread.  "To counter the effects.  So you could be a drunk, but you're covering it."

His eyes briefly close, and there's a thin smile playing on his lips.  "Clever."

"It is _clever_ ," she agrees, "but if it's true, you'll kill yourself before too long.  Potion intoxication and alcohol abuse aren't laughing matters even in isolation, but the two together could be lethal."

"I've never pretended to you, love.  I like a drink.  You've always known that."

He's right.  She has always known it.  She might've been the one to turn up at his house when they were teenagers with a smuggled bottle of vodka, but their underage drinking was usually driven by him, right from an age when she hadn't really understood the appeal - when all of his smuggled and stolen alcohol tasted sour, or sharp, or like something that her dad kept in the garage for cleaning the bumper of the car.  She'd eventually gained a taste for it - for certain alcohols - but Severus was far less picky, happy to swig anything and everything, as long as the end goal of inebriation remained guaranteed.

Her voice is cautious when she responds, not wanting to offend him, or start a fight over a subject he's previously been touchy about.  "Sev, there's a difference between liking a drink and the things Jigger was saying - turning up to work with tremors and bloodshot eyes and-"

"Yeah, well, I struggle when things are strained between us.  I probably did overdo it at times.  Jigger argued with me a lot - said I was throwing my talent away."

"He's right."

"No, he's not.  I should've told him the truth.  That although I was drowning my sorrows and my fears and occasionally my boredom - and I won't lie to you and pretend any different - I was experimenting as well," he admits, softly, "because he's right.  There is a potion, love...but it isn't for me."  Then he kisses her hard, trying to remove the touch of doubt he can sense in her.  "Next time I deliver it, you can come with me.  See for yourself."

She relaxes into his arms then, her trust somewhat restored.  "I'm...relieved.  I was scared.  I can't lose you."

"I told you," he says, earnestly.  "Anything you want to know, _ask_.  Don't fret and let it grow into some big thing that we can't deal with.   _Ask_.  I might not find the words easy to say, but if I can't, I'll always show you."

"...there is something else."  She can feel his chest moving beneath her as he laughs.  "What?  You just said-"

"I know, I know," he chuckles.  "I just didn't expect it to be instantaneous."

"This stuff we did…"

He sits up a little, his curiosity piqued.  "Yes?"

"...earlier last night.  ...I know why you don't want to be me.  After what happened with-"

"Yes," he interrupts quickly, not wanting to think about it all, not wanting to think about the men in the Order, or his oldest male friend, preferring to focus on the warm and willing witch in his arms instead.

"But I can't go back to the Order because I'm meant to be spying on Lucius, and even if you tell him, I don't really want to be in his company, not alone and-"

He laughs, touching his finger to her lips again to silence her.  "It amuses me that both you and Malf have had the same thought.  He started this, after all.  And as much as it disturbs me, I fear the only way out of this mess is for me to don your skin."

"Sev, you don't need to do that."

"I don't see any way around it.  I'm certainly not letting you be alone with him, but it's too risky to have you disappear completely, no matter what he thinks.  If you're going to pass information back, you have to be seen in his company."

"Or I could just not go back to the Order."

There's a long silence, and then he shakes his head.  "Not whilst we live in Dumbledore's castle, love."

"But he doesn't know-"

He gives her an uneasy look.  "We _think_ he doesn't know, but…"  He shrugs.  "I wouldn't be surprised if he finds out.  Or if he knows already.  Moody's an old friend of his, after all."  And then he kisses her again.  "I don't want him to think your loyalty has been shaken, or that you are truly aligned with Malf.  You need to be amongst them.  You never know when you might need their assistance once more."


	44. Hogsmeade is flooded

She stands in the stuffy corridor and desperately tries to muster up the courage to twist the ornate door handle and enter the Order meeting.  Severus was right - she has to remain aligned with the Order and their cause, and moreover, she wants to. These are the people that she wants to stand with, the magical men and women who are broadly fighting for her freedom, no matter their individual differences.

That's why her stomach is pulsing anxiously.  From the very first time she'd sat in with the Order, she'd placed her trust with them - especially in those early days, when Severus didn't know where she was going.  It wasn't truly a betrayal of Severus, as he felt the same when it came to blood status, of that she was certain. His beliefs on Muggles were confusing and complicated, and he contradicted himself more often than not - but his stance on Muggleborns had always been clear: they were magical, and just as magical as he was as a Half, or his Slytherin peers were as Pures.

Occasionally, she found herself wondering if Severus had not met her when he did - not befriended her at such an early point of his life, and formed his opinion without the negative influence of wider wizarding society - if his opinion would've been less certain.  She can't imagine him being a purist, but she wonders if his now determined stance would've been weak enough to be affected by the whispering of Malfoy or Rosier, of Avery or Mulciber, of the two beautiful Black sisters and their youngest male cousin - all of whom would rather have been seen dead than fighting for the Muggleborn cause.

It was of no surprise to her that despite his private beliefs, Severus did not join the Order's ranks, and she didn't blame him for his supposed inaction - to do so would've been social suicide for him, and he'd already committed the gravest of sins amongst his housemates by standing by their unusual relationship.  Despite this, she couldn't help but feel a note of admiration for the people who counted themselves amongst the Order's most loyal members; not least those of Pureblood heritage, who had nothing to gain and everything to lose by standing up for their beliefs.

So the thought of spinning another chain of lies to the people who had accepted her history, accepted her blood status, accepted her life - _well_ , not quite her life as they barely accepted Severus - but now, thanks to their carefully crafted web of deception, even he was no longer a fly in the ointment, or a barrier to her complete acceptance.  No, these people accepted Lily Evans, and the thought of adding another layer to the deception was making her feel a little sick.

After all, she, Lily Evans, was now one of them - a young maligned witch who was on the run from the Ministry, her name perhaps somewhat blackened by vague association with Lucius Malfoy - although even she isn't sure who amongst the group truly believes that aspect of her curious tale.

Moody being the notable exception.  And unless Severus' assumption was correct, and Dumbledore was also privy to the truth, Moody would be the only person in the room who knows for certain that she is still Severus' partner.  She isn't quite sure how she felt about the most sceptical auror in the Ministry knowing the most about her, but it isn't for that reason that her heart hammers in her chest as she reaches for the handle.  She isn't frightened of Moody, but she is terrified at how the Prewett twins and Potter and his band of miscreants will react to her reappearance.

"Lily!"

She needn't have worried.  Potter's cheer is gleeful, and hearing his exuberant yell of delight calms the nerves twisting in her stomach.  Relief floods over her when she realises that she hadn't been excommunicated in her absence - _they don't hate you_ \- and she quickly moves to sit between Potter and Black.

"Hey," Lupin says, leaning over and squeezing her knee.  "Thanks.  For… You know."

"Not here," she whispers, her eyes darting over towards the aurors seated on the other side of the room:  Bones, Vance and Moody - all deep in an animated discussion with Dumbledore.

"They all know," Black mutters, almost under his breath.  "Vance got us the recipe, remember?"

Potter gives a slight nod.  "And Moody knows everything."

"Bones too?"

"Thick as thieves with Vance," Pettigrew says, quietly.  "I followed them-"

"You followed-"

"Shhhhh!"  Black reacts quickly, elbowing her hard in the ribs - and the group all stare at the aurors, relieved to see that they remained engrossed in conversation.  "Merlin, Evans, I thought you were meant to be a spy of some sort?"

"Sorry."

"That's why you're involved with Malfoy, isn't it?  Brewing for him-"

"Mmm, I thought Peter was saying something important?" she quickly deflects, hoping that Vance has shared nothing further of her supposed involvement with Lucius Malfoy.

Pettigrew gives her a grateful smile, his chest inflating at her apparent praise.  "Yes, thank you."  He glances across at the aurors, and then continues, "I followed them, and Bones and Vance are _deep_.  Moody, not so much - but it's harder to keep trace of him.  You know what he's like."

"Paranoid," Potter chips in.

"He's not one of them," Pettigrew says.  "I might not be able to keep tabs on him, but I can keep tabs on the two women - and he's not as close to them as he might suggest."

Lily squirms a little uneasily in her seat, thinking of Moody's declaration:   _Get me Vance, and I'll make sure your man walks free._

"Why do you think he's on the outer?" she asks.

Black scoffs.  "He's not on the outer.  Bones worships the ground he walks on, even if she is his superior."  

"I thought Vance was Moody's boss?"

"She is," Lupin says.  "Bones and Vance are equals-"

"-but Moody now works in Vance's department," Pettigrew finishes.

"Now?"

"She was in the field," Potter says, his eyes not leaving Dumbledore, keenly watching for an indication that their conversation should be brought to a halt.

Lily's eyes widen.  "Undercover?"

"And old Moody doesn't like that one bit," Pettigrew mutters.  "I learnt that much." He gives a sniff.  "He reckons that to be able to pass undercover, you've got to have a bit of-"  He pauses, struggling to find the word.

"Sympathy," Black snaps.  "Empathy.  Whatever you want to call it."  

"To be convincing to the other side, you've got to lean a little that way yourself," Potter adds.

"Exactly."  Black leans back on his chair, almost triumphantly.  "I'd be rubbish at it. What you see is what you get with me."

Pettigrew smiles.  "Nor me. I'd be too worried that I'd say the wrong thing to the wrong person."

"I'm like a bludger to the face," Potter laughs.  "What about you, Moons?"

Lupin's voice is oddly contemplative when he speaks.  "I don't know.  ...not now." When Potter gives him a blank look, he sighs.  "Before this…  Before what Evans has done…  The monster in me, he was never _in_ me, do you understand?  It was like snapping off a light, or closing a door.  One minute I'm here, the next minute, the wolf is in my place."

"But now it's not?" she asks eagerly, leaning over Black to focus on Lupin, her academic interest now aflame.  "With the…" and she drops her voice to barely a whisper, "...potion?"

"Yes."  He looks torn, and runs his hand through his hair.  "It's brilliant; life-changing.  But...there was a line before, and now there isn't.  Now, I look down and it's _me_.  I _am_ the monster."

"You're not, Moony," Potter says, quickly.  "You're not a monster."

Lupin doesn't answer, but looks away - and before anyone can say anything else, Diggle slams the door shut and announces the start of the meeting.

* * *

Many miles away, Jigger strides up to the doors of the Leaky Cauldron and steps in, marching straight over to the table at the very back of the bar.  "Horace."

"Ah, about time," Slughorn says, although his tone is far softer than his rebuke.  "I was starting to think you'd stood me up.  Drink?"

"On me," Jigger says, and points at the three empty glasses on the table.  "I see you've got a taste for it.  Same again?"

* * *

She's never seen Mundungus Fletcher take centre stage at a meeting before, but the rest of the Order are hanging on his every word, his hands twisting against each other as he talks loudly.  "It's a fluctuating market."

"A fluctuating market?"  Vance shoots him a sceptical look.  "You make it sound like your trade is honorable."

To his credit, Mundungus doesn't falter.  "We are all well aware that in happier times, I would be a much higher priority to your esteemed department-"

"-don't flatter yourself."

At this, Mundungus straightens his jacket.  "I am an entrepreneur."

"A drug dealer," Potter stage whispers to Black.

"I am a mover and shaker," Mundungus says, loudly.

"Yeah, he shakes parcels to see if they clink with illegal potion vials," Lupin quips.

"And then moves them so they change into coins in his pocket," Pettigrew finishes with a grin.  

Still, Mundungus ignores them all - and although she has little time for the oily man, she can't help but admire how steadfastly he ignores their provocation.  "In all businesses, there's supply and demand. I ensure that the two continue to meet."

Potter snorts.  "Yeah, and ensure your pockets are filled-"

"Get to the point, Fletcher," Bones interrupts, shooting a stern look over at Potter.

Mundungus whips a vial out of his jacket and plants it on the table.  "This is the point."

Bones is quick, but Vance is faster, and her small hand grips the bottle.  "It's unlabelled."

"Indeed."

"So what is it?" Moody says, stamping over to stand behind the two women, his curiosity suddenly aroused.

"Try it."

There's a long silence, and Moody shoots Mundungus a withering glare.  "Fool."

"No, don't be hasty," Vance says, with a thin smile.  She stands, and uncaps the potion, and then she hands it to Mundungus.  "Go on then."

Mundungus glances around the room, his eyes widening.  "I'm…  No."

"If you do not, then how are we to know if this is anything other than water?"  She peers at the liquid again, tipping the vial slightly so it moves - but the liquid looks innocuous, and gives away no clues as to its contents.

"It was a joke," Mundungus says, hastily, looking increasingly unnerved.  "It's Imperatum."

There's another silence as the horrified group digests the information.

Bones' voice is low.  "And you say Hogsmeade is flooded with this?"

"All of the public houses."

"Who?  Why?"

"I wish I could help," Mundungus says, softly.  "It's terrible for business if my clients do not know their own minds, but it's..."  He shrugs apologetically.

"Dumbledore?"

"I'm afraid it's the first I had heard of this," Dumbledore says, softly.  "It is most concerning."  He fixes Mundungus with a hard stare.  "When did this start, Mundungus?"

"I've only been able to procure a vial in the last day or so, but I believe contaminated products have been flooding the usual locations - the Leaky, the Broomsticks and the Hog's - for the last few weeks."

She notices that Dumbledore looks uncomfortable, but the room is soon distracted as Moody gives a soft laugh.  "And with your patrons no longer knowing their own minds, they've lost interest in your line of increasingly expensive party drugs, is that right, Mundungus?  That's how you stumbled across this, yes?"

Mundungus shoots a glance at Lily, and she suddenly feels uncomfortable, knowing that the recent rise in expense of Mundungus' products is because of her and Severus' relative unavailability.  "It is of no matter," Mundungus huffs.  "I'm not into that any longer."

And now Moody guffaws.  "Not into dealing, Mundungus?  Since when?"

"Not dealing, brokering!"

"...and why the career change?"

"No reason."

It's a standoff at this point, and it's obvious that Mundungus will be pushed no further.  She watches as Bones and Vance discuss the potion in hushed tones, and whilst the concerned glance between Dumbledore and Moody doesn't bypass her, all she can think is that she wants to get her hands on that vial so she can see Imperatum for herself.

* * *

"Tell me," Jigger says, leaning back in his seat.  "How long has it been?"

Slughorn gives him a surprised look.  "Since we last met, or since we last did this?"

"This!  Been out and about like ordinary wizards."  He lowers his voice.  "Like it was before the last round of purges-"

"They're not giving a reason now," Slughorn murmurs.  "Before they told everyone the same thing-"

"Undesirable political allegiances," Jigger quickly finishes.  "I know, I've heard it enough times."

"-but now they're just burning their papers, and banishing them."

"Burning their papers?   _Banishing_ them?"  Jigger looks astounded, and Slughorn loudly hushes him.

"Unless you wish to be next," Slughorn says, looking nervously around the pair, "I suggest you lower your volume."

"...noted."

They sit for a moment, Slughorn sipping at his drink whilst Jigger toys with his glass - and then, Slughorn suddenly looks up and smiles.  "I say, it's been a long time since I heard this."

"I should think so," Jigger says, "it came out before you were able to grow a moustache."

"Now now, I don't think it's anywhere near that old," Slughorn laughs, but then a frown replaces his joy.  "...when did the Leaky start piping music through the bar?"

Jigger gives a tight smile.  "Oh, I believe it's a recent development."

* * *

"I think this topic has been covered," Vance says, her tone weary.  "Now, is there anything else to report from you boys?"

"All I'm saying is that there's no chance of any us lot getting close to him now.  Not now he's being protected by Slughorn."  Black looks apologetically at Lily, his comment clearly pointed towards Dumbledore, who is pretending not to hear - least, she thinks the great wizard is pretending; Black's hardly subtle, and as far as she knows, Dumbledore's hearing isn't failing, despite his advanced age.  "I thought we'd get him for you sooner than this, Evans," Black adds, darkly, "but there's still time.  Snape can only hide at Hogwarts for so long."

Black seems to miss the glance that Gideon and Fabian share, but Lily easily spots it.  Moody's words have clearly spilled back to them - and she wonders just how much Molly has told them.  She can hear Vance wrapping up the meeting, but she's lost in her thoughts - do the Prewett boys know everything?  Nothing? Do they know that she's still in love with Severus, and he with her?  Or do they think that Black's angry behaviour is unwarranted?  Without knowing their history, Black's blinkered focus on just one wizard is a little unusual given that their world is full of anti-Muggleborn and Death Eater sympathisers, all of whom would be far more deserving of Black's ire than a politically insignificant low-level drug dealer.

She glances around the group, and it feels as if her brain's spinning with the possibilities; instead of a room of friends, it's as if the room has been populated with potential enemies, all of whom believe different tales about her.  She knows Vance thinks she's fucking Malfoy, whilst Moody knows she isn't, and she suspects Dumbledore knows she's holed up at Hogwarts with Severus, but she can't prove it. Instead, she has to pretend that she's sleeping in spare rooms and on sofas, running and hiding from the darker forces within the Ministry - only whilst taking care not to sound too distressed, lest another kind-hearted soul offers their hospitality.

"You should join the department, young Black," Moody mutters, clapping his hand on Black's shoulder.  "We could do with a few terriers like you."

" _Within_ the laws, Alastor," Bones calls over, her right eyebrow slightly raised.

"I didn't say outside of the laws," he grumbles, gripping Black's shoulder even more tightly.  "I like this boy's approach.  Like a dog with a bone."

"You've got that right," Potter grins, and it clearly takes all of Pettigrew's effort not to laugh.  

Moody scowls, and just as she thinks he's going to rebuke the group, he indicates that she should rise.  "Time for us to leave, Evans," he says.

Potter immediately stands.  "I walk her home-"

"Sit down, Potter," Moody barks, and Black's eyes widen when Potter obeys the older man.  "You don't know where she's going."

"And you do?"

Moody doesn't dignify the question with a response, and she shoots the group of friends an apologetic look as Moody sweeps her out of the room.

"I reckon he's taking her for a drink," Pettigrew laughs, elbowing Lupin - but his joke that Moody would try and lace Lily with Imperatum falls flat, and Potter looks at him with disgust.  Pettigrew's blushes are saved when it's clear that the rest of the Order aren't paying them any attention, still mumbling in their small groups.  Seemingly embarrassed by his failed quip, Pettigrew looks at Potter, Black and Lupin thoughtfully.  "Want me to follow them?  I know I said that Moody's difficult, but I can probably tag Evans easily-"

Lupin gives a subtle shake of his head, and positions himself so his back is to Dumbledore, who has suddenly taken an interest in the group.  "Dumbledore," he mouths, and the four boys start a sudden and loud conversation about the merits of the latest line of Cleansweep broomsticks.

* * *

"Really, there's no need-"

"You've had Merlin knows how many of those drinks," Jigger says, his arm firmly clamped around Slughorn's waist, "I won't take no for an answer."

Slughorn sighs loudly.  "If you insist."

Jigger shoots Slughorn a strange look.  "I meant to ask you - the Snape boy and his girl, I forget her name…"

"Evans?  Lily Evans?"

"Yes.  What did you think of her?"

Slughorn gives a derisory snort.  "Mudblood, of course.  Acceptable to look at, but suitable for little other than satisfying the most base of wizard's urges.  Still, what more can you expect from that stock?"

* * *

They're at the foot of the grounds when they land, and as soon as Lily catches her breath, she stares at Moody in wonder.  "Imperatum?"

"Not you or your filthy fellow then?"  

"No!"

"Good."  

"Who else do you suspect?"

"There's only a few skilled enough to brew it.  Slughorn, Jigger, Borage or Belby. From what I've seen, your boy is talented enough, but you say it's not his handiwork."  Moody appraises her.  "And if the rumours are true, yourself."

"You shouldn't listen to rumours."

"And you shouldn't be brewing unlicensed potions."

She tosses her hair.  "I'm not dignifying that with a response."

"Be careful, Evans," he hisses.  "This is new and different."

"Borage," she says, firmly.  "After what he did with Severus, I wouldn't…"  She draws to a sudden halt.

"I see you've caught up," he says, stiffly.  "If it is Borage - and there's no saying it is, as those other Masters are skilled enough in their own right - then your boy had best be on his guard, lest he find himself taking the fall again."  He gives her a strange look.  "Tell me it isn't you behind this."

"It isn't."

"Swear it," Moody hisses.

"I swear!"

He gives her another searching look, and then he places his hand out before her.  "You're different," and although it's an accusation, his tone is mild - and before she can argue, she can feel that he's right; the pulse of magic reflecting back at her is stronger and more insistent than before.  "Bored?"

"No."

"It's supposed to be contained," he says.  "It's not supposed to be building."

"What does it mean?"

"Snape's is the same?"

She shakes her head - Severus has still got that thrill of magic surrounding him; she could feel it coming from him in waves in their quarters earlier, but it's at the same intensity it's always been.  Her eyes flutter as she basks in the rebounding flurry of waves.

"Addictive, isn't it?" Moody says, his voice darkening.  "Has he done this to you?"

She opens her eyes to stare at him.  "Done what?"

"Is that why neither of you have contained your magic?" he asks, and she can hear the pondering in his voice - as if this thought hasn't occurred to him previously.  "Are you somehow feeding off one another?  Being excited by each other?"

" _This_ ," she says, angrily, "is not Severus' fault.  He hasn't done _anything_."  She flushes when she thinks of their most recent games, and pulls her robes more tightly to her.  

 _Don't be daft, Lily_ , she thinks. _It can't be that._

She steps out of Moody's vicinity, breaking the pulse of magic that was flooding over her.  "I am rather tired of him being the victim of nonsensical accusations."

He doesn't apologise, and she isn't expecting him to, but he does start to walk up to the castle instead of immediately Disapparating, which she takes as an apology of sorts.

"Does Dumbledore know I'm here?"

"Yes."

_I knew it._

She moves a little faster, her shorter legs making Moody's fast pace difficult to maintain.  "Why hasn't he said anything?"

"He doesn't want you or Severus to know that he knows," Moody says.

"Why not?"

Moody halts again, and this time, he looks pained.  "...he wants you to be safe."

"That's not what you were going to say." 

He shakes his head but doesn't elaborate, and she stops walking.  "Come on, Evans," he says, tiredly.  "I want to go home."

She throws her arms down by her sides in fury.  "And I want you to tell me the truth!  I'm tired of being lied to and misled!"

"Get me Vance," he hisses.  "The rest will take care of itself."

They walk in unhappy silence for a couple of minutes before the thought finally crosses her mind.  "...he wants Severus, doesn't he?" 

Moody doesn't break stride, but his back stiffens and she hops along excitedly next to him.  

"No!," she exclaims.  "Dumbledore doesn't _want_ Severus - he's already got Severus.  Severus thinks he's here because of Lucius Malfoy, but it's not Malfoy who arranged this, it's Dumbledore, isn't it?"

"Get inside," Moody says, roughly propelling her towards the castle which is now looming over them, and before she can protest or add to her theory, he's gone.

* * *

Slughorn is pacing back and forth across his office, his meaty hand over his mouth.  "I wouldn't, I can't-"

"It happened, Horace," Jigger says, darkly, pointing once more at the borrowed pensieve.  "How much more proof do you require?"

"But I don't hold such views!" Slughorn shouts, his voice so loud, the hangings on the wall flutter.

"...I know you don't," Jigger says.  "You were merely repeating what you'd heard."

"I do not share such company, I do not surround myself with those with such views, I-"

Jigger gives him a pointed look.  "Could you not hear the wizarding wireless?"

"Of course I could," Slughorn says, his cheeks still flush with fury.  "I commented to you about the song - the Celestina Warbeck one-"

"-but not of the discussion between the songs?"

"There was no discussion between the songs."

"No?  You heard nothing?"  

Slughorn looks frustrated.  "It was seamless music as far as I noticed."

"You missed the subtle comments between the songs, then?"  Jigger reaches into his pocket and pulls out a vial, and Slughorn's face falls.

"Imperatum?  You gave me Imperatum?"

" _Tom_ gave you Imperatum."

Slughorn looks disgusted.  "Tom wouldn't give me Imperatum.  Tom wouldn't even know how to get hold of Imperatum.  The only way Tom would give me Imperatum-"

"-was if someone was lacing his alcohol supply with it."

Slughorn sits down heavily, as if his legs are suddenly too weak to hold his weight.  "...to make them susceptible to the propaganda being piped through the wireless." He looks at Jigger, his expression aghast.  "That's why the Leaky suddenly has a wireless.  That's why I said those things."

"Because in that moment, you believed them."  Jigger pulls another vial from his pocket and shakes it.  "Lucky I gave you that antidote in your final drink, isn't it?  Else Merlin knows what you'd have said over breakfast tomorrow in the Great Hall."

"But who would brew such a thing?"  Slughorn shakes his head.  "Especially knowing what it would be used for, and-"

"Well, that's just it, Horace.  ...I didn't know."


	45. Subliminal messaging

Slughorn looks furious, and there's a speckle of spit on his lip as he thunders, "But we are talking about Imperatum, Arsenius!"  

"And I told you, Horace," Jigger shouts back, instantly on the defensive, "I have had this arrangement for years without incident!  I didn't expect-"

"-you've had this arrangement for years?"  Slughorn looks horrified.  "Brewing Imperatum?  Who on earth for?"

Jigger looks Slughorn squarely in the eye.  "I fear you have just discovered the true nature of my longstanding business relationship with Abraxas Malfoy."

"Abraxas Malfoy?"  Slughorn's voice reveals his astonishment.  "I was aware that you interacted on occasion, and that you'd recently had a sale or two, but I thought you barely had any dealings with him, I thought-"

"-he preferred for me not to advertise our connection," Jigger interrupts, softly.  "I know his acquaintance with you is rather more tenuous these days, but back when this started, he believed that having a number of brewers in his pocket could be looked on rather unfavourably by the Ministry if rumours ever took hold."

"But I've never brewed for him."

Jigger gives him a fleeting look of triumph.  "Exactly.  Any accusation of brewing would be lain at _your_ door, and you had ample proof that you were not his brewer.  He ensured that my relationship with him was kept in the shadows."  He draws in a breath.  "No grand meals at Malfoy Manor for me," and his lips quirk, "not like my young apprentice."

"You don't think Severus-"

"No."  Jigger's quick to shake his head.  "The boy's not involved.  He has no idea.  You're quite right, of course, he's full of starry eyes about the younger Malfoy, but I refuse to indulge such topics of conversation within the laboratory.  He is entirely ignorant of my involvement in that family's dealings."  He gives Slughorn a searching look.  "It's why I was not best pleased to discover their connection - it brings the wolf a little too close to my door."

"Indeed."  Slughorn runs his large hands over his face, and then teases his moustache back into shape.  "And how did Abraxas make the suggestion to you?"

Jigger laughs, a dark and deep laugh.  "How does Abraxas make a suggestion to anyone?  He's insanely powerful - he was instrumental in the appointment of Cornelius Fudge, you do realise?"

Slughorn's sudden twitch betrays him, revealing he knew no such thing.  "...I was not aware that Cornelius was so affiliated."

Jigger gives a tight lipped smile.  "Everyone believes he's Dumbledore's man, but that's the beauty of him - the only reason Fudge leans on Dumbledore so heavily is because he was pushed into post far too soon."

"I don't think-"  

"No?  There were numerous candidates far more suitable for the position - not just Dumbledore, but the likes of Crouch or Scrimgeour - but that's what makes Fudge so appealing to the likes of Abraxas."

"Incompetency?"  Slughorn looks sceptical.  "I can't see Abraxas being impressed by incompetence."

"But Fudge's incompetency is a byproduct of fear.  He's frozen with indecision, led by inept ministers who are not loyal to him, and being plotted against by those who feel he usurped their place in the hierarchy.  He's spineless, weak and therefore easily manipulated.  He feels that as long as the Ministry operates on the surface - as if all appears well, no matter how blackened the core and how nasty and insidious the rot within has become - he won't speak up.  He has no cause, no real political affiliation, and he most certainly won't dare to speak out against the likes of the Malfoys - not with the funding they push the Ministry's way."

Slughorn appraises his old friend.  "And it is this funding that so convinced you, I assume?"

Jigger holds his hands out in mock surrender.  "I make a living, Horace.  We all do."

Slughorn shakes his head.  "I cannot reconcile this in my mind, Arsenius.  Abraxas!  I am not ignorant of his family's beliefs, and their unusual methods of manipulation, but what are you suggesting?  Years, you said!  What was he doing with it?"

"Controlling his house elves," Jigger says, softly.  "Least, that's what he always told me."

Slughorn gives a scornful laugh.  "House elves?  And you believed that?"

Jigger looks uncomfortable.  "Perhaps, in the beginning.  But I have long suspected that his wife and son were the primary recipients of the potion."  

Slughorn's breath hitches, and Jigger can see him reevaluating the family with his new knowledge.  "But why?"

"The only conclusion I was able to draw was that he came to me and made his request after the rather public revelation of her affair."

Slughorn was pacing the room now.  "Yes, I remember - Ignatius Prewett, of all people!  I spoke to Abraxas a few times back then.  I thought he would divorce her in those first few weeks, but then he suddenly said that was all behind them," and he waved his hand, "it was a moment of madness, and she was back to her usual self again."  He looks troubled.  "I remember the dinner party where we discussed it.  We - the three of us - retired to his study, and I was surprised he even raised the topic in her presence."

"And what did she say?"

"That's just it - she sat in the corner of the room as Abraxas talked, and she was smiling absently at the fire.  I remember being surprised that she was silent - you know how feisty she was - but I thought that was her concession given the circumstances.  She'd brought shame upon him, and now she was to remain silent whilst he cleared up the mess."

Jigger nods.  "Indeed.  He may have said it was behind them, but he never forgave her - not for the scandal she brought to their name.  He said on many an occasion that he could no longer trust her to remain true to him.  Once I realised, I could see that the dates made sense - but what was I do to do, Horace?  Stop?  Imagine the fall out if he was lacing her in such a way!"

Slughorn takes a deep breath, looking horrified at the idea.  "And you believe Lucius was a victim as well?"

"I think he didn't want the boy getting any ideas about aiding his mother.  Until that moment, they had been rather close - far closer than father and son."

"I'm afraid I do not recall," Slughorn says, shaking his head.  "I simply remember young Lucius following his father around the manor, keen to emulate him whenever opportunity arose."

"And hasn't he just," Jigger muses.  "...I've heard rumours that the boy has twisted ideas on consent."

"That and power," Slughorn confirms, swallowing hard.  "It was somewhat of a problem in Slytherin House when he was a student; he was forever forcing the younger students to bend to his will.  He always protested it was a joke, but…" Slughorn looks ashamed.  "I thought I'd put a stop to it, and that he'd grown out of it.  I had no idea..."  He pauses.  "So, what are you suggesting?  That this isn't Abraxas making use of your potion?"

"I do not believe it is Abraxas," Jigger says, softly.  "I _was_ brewing for Abraxas, but as you long heard me complain, his payment schedule had become somewhat erratic."

"So you've let Lucius take the reigns?"

And once more, Jigger looks uncomfortable.  "Not young Lucius - although he seems the obvious choice, doesn't he?  No, I was approached by an interested third party. Someone who felt that the potion was worth more, and with Abraxas being reluctant to pay his bills, I was just incredibly grateful that someone saw fit to line my pockets appropriately, especially as the brews were already completed."  He pulls out a scrap of parchment and passes it over, and Slughorn's eyes widen as he reads the name at the foot of the page.

"Arsenius, please tell me that you didn't do business with Rodolphus Lestrange?"

* * *

Severus wanders through their shared quarters, his long lean arms stretching over his head as he yawns loudly.  He pushes Lily's half-eaten breakfast to one side of the table and focuses on the unopened post, rifling through the letters, all addressed to him.  Obviously.  He rips open a stained envelope first; it's wax-sealed, although there's no crest - but from the state of the outside, he knows it's from Mundungus Fletcher.  He reads and nods, and then burns the letter - and then he rips open its polar opposite; a pristine envelope containing luxurious bond paper in an eggshell tone.  Malfoy didn't need to stamp the familiar crest on the back for Severus to recognise the sender.  His lips move silently as he reads, reaching absently for Lily's half-eaten cold toast.

* * *

The only positive thing Aberforth can say about his older brother is that at least he has the good sense to descend upon his bar in the morning, before the Hog's Head is open for the day - it doesn't do for business for the self-confessed dregs of society to run unexpectedly into the upstanding and righteous Headmaster of Hogwarts.

"Aberforth, it would be easier for us to converse if you were to turn around," Albus prompts gently, and Aberforth's body tenses at the apparent rebuke.

"View's fine this way."

"I am in no doubt that is the case," Albus chuckles lightly.  "...I am unhappy that you did not bring this latest development to my attention."

Aberforth runs his cloth across the bar, scrubbing angrily at the wood, and refusing to turn and face Albus.  "And if I had, what would you have done?  Leapt upon your pack of Thestrals and headed to the Ministry, demanding to be seen by your best friend?"

"Cornelius Fudge is not my best friend."

"No?"

"No."

With a last grand swipe at the pristine bar - it's now the best it's ever looked, weeks of stains and dirt finally washed away - Aberforth retreats to rinse his cloth before heading out into the main area to wash down each table.  Albus frowns as he watches him, confident that Aberforth has never previously made such an effort to clean his establishment, but makes no move to leave the building.  As Aberforth wipes down the last table, he glances over his shoulder.  "That it, then?  Got what you came for?"

"It's not just the subliminal messaging," Albus says softly, his hand reaching out to touch one of the beer pumps on the bar.  "It's the drink."

"I'm no fool."

"I didn't say you were.  I can understand you failing to notice that it is laced..."

Aberforth finally turns, his cloth forgotten and his arms folded across his chest.  "I am as much a wizard as you.  I did not _fail_ to notice."

"Then-"

"What should I have done, Albus?  The stocks were dry.  I bargained and bartered with various breweries for weeks - Tom and Ros did the same - but each and every agreement fell through.  Nobody could help, and when it looked as if we were all going to have to shut up shop permanently, the Ministry came forward with a deal," and he holds his hand up to stop his brother from interrupting, "and _no_ , they did not explain that Imperatum was an integral ingredient."  He shrugs.  "Ros and Tom did the same - signed on the dotted line - and we're not the only ones."

" _Nobody_ protested?"

"...old woman Scrivenshaft," Aberforth says, eventually.  "Not the Imperatum - you can't sell that in a quill shop, but the wireless.  Said it interfered with the customers shopping.  Distracted them."

"I was under the impression that Marta had recently retired?  Just last week, or-"

Aberforth gives a tight smile.  "Oh yes, she has.  Her son, Henrich has taken over the day-to-day running of the establishment.  He stood by his mother at first, but he has different views on the wireless these days."

Albus' blood runs cool.  "And of Marta?  She is...happily retired?"

"It is said that she no longer rises from her seat before the fire in their parlour."

Albus bows his head.  "I am to assume that she is no longer capable?"

Aberforth swallows tightly.  "I'm a busy man, Albus."

"Aberforth, this is unconscionable.  If only you'd swallowed your pride and had come to me, if-"

At this, Aberforth spins, his fists clenching by his sides.  "You can lecture me when you've lectured the rest of the owners down these wizarding streets, and not a moment before!"  He takes a step forward, his body large and looming, despite Albus' own height.  "And I wouldn't put it past you to do so, but I can tell you that you'd be best speaking to your beloved Minister, because he was the one who signed this decree."  Aberforth looks disgusted.  "And as far as I remember, you helped him into his position - so don't look at me like _I'm_ the wizard with blood on his hands."  He steps back, and his chest is rising and falling as a rush of adrenaline surges through his body.  "You know where the door is. You can see yourself out."

* * *

It was weird enough being Severus, and she's not entirely sure this is his greatest plan - but he was so earnest at wanting her to see that Jigger's accusations of alcoholism were incorrect, she found herself being swept away with his enthusiasm and she knocked back the Polyjuice with the mysterious hair contained within.  

That's her explanation for shivering in a darkened nook from the side of Knockturn Alley, despite the afternoon sun lashing Diagon Alley.  The buildings here are cramped together, and imposing, and she can tell from the moss growing between the cobbles that this part of wizarding Britain is mostly untouched by sunlight.  It's clearly why Mundungus Fletcher has chosen it, and his eyebrows quirk when he sees her, even in her new unfamiliar form.

"Mundungus."

"Good afternoon, Snape.  Mr Avery.  I wasn't aware this was a social gathering."

"Where is he?" Severus says, sharply.

"I didn't realise you had better things to do with your time," Mundungus sniffs, giving Lily a sideways glance.  "I wanted a _private_ word with you-"

"-if you've given me the wrong time because you want to bend my ear-"

"I didn't realise you'd have company!" Mundungus shouts.  At Severus' furious look, he collects himself, breathing deeply before speaking again in a low whisper.  "It's about these potions-"

"I'm not brewing," Severus says, glancing anxiously around them following Mundungus' outburst.

Mundungus gives him a sceptical look.  "Apart from what's in your robes now."

"This is different.  Pre-arranged."

"I thought we had an understanding," Mundungus starts, giving Lily a suspicious glance.  "And I don't understand why you've brought this great lummock along with you."

"Oi," she chips in, feeling certain that Avery wouldn't let such a remark slide.

"Shut up, Ave," Severus says, before rounding on Mundungus.  "When's Bast getting here?"

_Rabastan Lestrange?_

"Just something, Snape.  That's all I'm asking.  Fair's fair, I stood by you."

Severus gives him a disdainful sneer.  "Stood by me when?"

"When those accusations were flying around.  I trusted you to keep supplying, believed in your abilities."

Severus shakes his head.  "I can't.  Not under Dumbledore's nose."

"He'll never know!  I just need something to keep business ticking over."

"Let's go, Snape," she says, daring to speak, certain that this conversation isn't going to end the way either man wants.  "We've got better things to do."

"Things?"  Mundungus scoffs.  "That's what you call those whores down Knockturn, is it?"  He laughs. "No wonder you brought _him_ with you when I gave you this location."

Severus' back tightens, and he whips the potion from his robes.  "Get this to Bast," he says, his voice low, "and get me my galleons by the end of the week.  I am a busy man, and I do not have time for your nonsense-"

"Snape, come on-"

"-and if you _fuck_ me on this," he hisses, his wand in his hand and pointing threateningly at Mundungus, "I swear, I will-"

"I won't," Mundungus answers quickly, sudden fear evident in his eyes.  He takes a step back from the younger man, and composes himself.  "I'll get your money to you."

"I should charge you for wasting my time," Severus snaps, pulling his robes tightly around him.  "You're not the only broker in town, and you'd do well to remember it."

"I'm the only broker you trust," Mundungus says, making sure he stays several steps away from Severus, and glancing nervously at Avery.  He gives a slight nod as he backs away from them.  "Mr Snape.  Mr Avery." And then just as he rounds the corner, a safe distance from them, Mundungus gives a nasty smile.  "Have a good afternoon, gentlemen. Enjoy your _paid_ company."

* * *

"Rabastan Lestrange?" she breathes, as they settle back into their rooms.  "He's an alcoholic?"

"Not Bast," Severus says, shrugging off his cloak.  He glances at her, seeing her hair starting to turn back to its usual colour.  "That was close. I thought we weren't going to make it back."

She can feel the change starting to take place, and Avery's thicker features slowly melt away as she returns to her own appearance.  "When you started arguing with Mundungus, I thought we were through," she calls, heading towards the bedroom to change into her usual clothes.

"You and me both," he says, sitting on the sofa and untying his boots.  "Merlin knows what time Bast was due to turn up."

"Who is he giving it to if he's not using it himself?  Bast, I mean."

"A relative," he says.  "I'm not sure who - I lose track of who is drunk, and who is just fervent in their ridiculous purist beliefs."  He flashes her a grin as she sits down next to him.  "It's hard to tell the difference."

"You've been a guest at the Lestranges?  You know them?"

"Three times, I think," he says, his eyes narrowing as he tries to recall.  "Four, maybe?  I was last there a few weeks back, but I wouldn't say I know them.  They tolerate me because of Narcissa."

"Not Lucius?"

He laughs.  "Malf is not their favourite person.  They approve of Narcissa because Bellatrix married Dolph, do you remember?"

She digs him in the ribs.  "How could anyone forget?  It was in the Prophet for weeks on end - wedding of the year."

"Yes, Malf was most annoyed that his coupling with Cissy didn't get quite the same reception."  He settles back, and pulls her into his embrace.  "I don't think all of the elders realised my background when I was introduced," he says.  "I can't say I'd be keen to go back in a hurry - not these days."

"They didn't know we were together, I'm guessing?"

"I'm insignificant," he laughs.  "The elders had no idea, and the younger ones assumed their parents and grandparents were tolerating me for reasons unknown to themselves.  It's a risk I'd rather not take."

"No."

"Although maybe I have recently redeemed myself," he says, ghosting a kiss down her neck.  "I was rather keen to hear what Bast had to say on the topic.  Bloody Mundungus."

She leans into his touch.  "I thought you broke up with me so people would understand why you'd moved back to Hogwarts."

"I did."

"But you're really hoping to get back in with your old friends?"  She tries to keep her tone light, but she isn't sure how successful she's been when she's greeted with silence.

"...I've been asked to do so," he says, eventually, but he doesn't elaborate as to who, and when he kisses her more insistently, it's obvious he's not prepared to say more.

* * *

Lily peers at herself in the mirror, opening her mouth widely whilst she gently traces lipstick across her lips.  She presses her lips together, ensuring even application of the colour, and then opens her mouth again to check the bright stain, intending to correct any missed patches - and it's at that moment that she catches Severus' dark eyes in the reflection, watching her from their bed.  She pauses, her eyes meeting his in the mirror, letting him know that he's been caught and then she hears him chuckle.

"Got me red handed."

"Haven't you got better things to do other than watch me dress?"

"Most definitely not.  This is in my top three favourite things to do."

She laughs.  "You're an idiot.  What about you getting ready - you were the one who said we needed to get there early."

"I am ready."

At this, she turns and gives him a sceptical look.  "You're naked, and sprawled over our bed."

He laughs again.  "I can't help where you left me."  Before she can argue, he points at his already selected robes hanging on the outside of the wardrobe.  "I only need to throw those on.  Bit of aftershave, maybe.  Half a minute, tops."  He settles back on the bed, his arms behind his head, and then a small frown crosses his face.  "I'm not bothering you, am I?"

"I don't mind.  I just don't understand what's so fascinating about watching me get ready."

He doesn't answer - and when it becomes obvious he's not going to explain, she gives a small shake of her head and continues to apply her makeup, knowing his eyes are roaming over her with her every move.

* * *

Severus pulls her into a swirl of Apparation, and the two land gently outside the wrought iron gates of Malfoy Manor.  He holds her hand, and they walk down the path, the gates swinging open, as if they were sentient and aware of who had approached them.  

She notices him glancing around, and she grips his hand a little more tightly.

"Okay?" he asks.

"Yes," she says, but as the Manor looms into view, she can't help but tense slightly.  

To her surprise, he stops - as if he's sensed her discomfort - and he kisses her cheek.  "I don't want to mess up your lipstick," he says, before she can comment on his chasteness.  "There's nothing to worry about, love.  Malf doesn't send polite invitations via owl post if he's intending to start a brawl."

"He wants you for something.  Or me."

"In our finery?"  Severus glances at her beautiful robes - funded by her parents when she'd told them that she'd be expected to attend a Ministry gala during her apprenticeship; an invitation that never came - and then down at his own, Malfoy-funded attire.  "This isn't business.  This is a celebration."

"And he wants _me_ in attendance?"

Severus shrugs nonchalantly, but she can tell from how his fingers grip hers that the thought has already crossed his own mind, and he doesn't have an answer.  

* * *

As it turns out, there was nobody else joining them; Severus and Lucius, Lily and Narcissa - all in their finest of robes, all eating the most exquisite of meals in the ornate dining room.  She sits opposite Severus, and next to Lucius, and although they make eye contact at several points throughout the meal, she misses the comforting hand of her boyfriend nestled within hers - and when she glances at Lucius with his wide crocodile smile, she's certain the seating arrangements are deliberate.

An hour passes, and then another, and she's still no closer to understanding why they've been invited - and Severus looks equally blank.  When she opens her mouth to enquire, he shoots her a dark gaze - _how could he tell I was going to ask?_ \- and she swerves into a compliment about the raspberry coulis instead.

Narcissa smiles.  "Regrettably, it's the only part of the meal I made myself."

"Not the elves?"

"For reasons unknown to the rest of us," Lucius mutters, "Cissy has always been keen to take the lead in the kitchen."

"Desserts only," Narcissa corrects, smiling fondly at Lucius, who reaches over the table to take her hand, their wedding rings sparkling in the light.

"And here I thought you enjoyed scrubbing pots and pans filled with congealed sauces," Severus drawls, with a smirk.  "I was about to invite you around to my parents' house."

To Lily's surprise, Narcissa laughs.  "I know, it's terribly Muggle of me-" and then she falters, her eyes meeting Lily's, and all of the participants in the polite dinner suddenly freeze.  

Severus' eyes dart from one Malfoy to the other, and Narcissa glances up at the grand chandelier - and then Lily sees Severus reaching for his champagne flute, his eyes communicating that she should do the same.  In unison, they sip from their glasses, and thankfully - to the relief of the entire party - one of the house elves appears at Lucius' side, murmuring in his ear.

"I do apologise," Lucius says, pushing his chair back abruptly and dropping his napkin on the table.  "I have some family business to take care of."  He waves a hand towards the table and speaks directly at the house elf.  "Dobby, clear this away and aid Cissy with preparing the room for dancing-"

"-I'll do that," Severus interjects.

"Nonsense, we are your hosts, Severus-"

"I believe Lily hasn't been fully acquainted with the Manor.  Perhaps it would be more befitting of a hostess to accompany her on a tour?" Severus suggests.

Lucius pauses, and then gives a stiff nod.  "Of course.  Dobby can take care of the particulars in here.  Severus, do take the lead and order him if his changes are not to your liking.  I'll return shortly."

* * *

When she was a child, her parents would take her and Petunia on guided tours of grand stately homes, and this felt no different - only instead of the servitude being historical, she was only too aware that this was living and breathing; that the Malfoy family had money and status far beyond her own dreams, let alone those of Severus.  She nodded politely as Narcissa whisked her from floor to floor, opening doors and pointing out paintings - and she felt herself warming to the witch in a way she hadn't previously, despite the unspoken of issue of blood status hanging over them like the sword of Damocles.  She idly wonders if Narcissa would understand the reference - glancing around the rooms, she can see the influence of Muggle art and literature, and she wonders if the Malfoys realise it, or if their purism is so deep, they're entirely ignorant of how their worlds must once have collided.

"Our peers believe he's disowned you," Narcissa says, as they reach the top corridor, "but Lucius insisted that you were to be his date tonight."

She almost daren't breath - this very real discussion is so different to the polite murmurs of small talk they've shared over the evening, and she desperately doesn't want to damage Severus in any form.  "Severus is keen to do as Lucius wishes."

Narcissa laughs politely.  "Oh, isn't he just.  And yet you agreed to accompany him, despite his behaviour towards you?"  And then she reaches forward and takes Lily's hand.  "You've been together a long time."

Lily lets the words hang, and doesn't respond - choosing instead to stare out of the window and across the vast grounds.

"I know he loves you," Narcissa tries again, and this time, Lily's breath hitches.  "He doesn't believe in the cause in quite the way Lucius and I do, does he?"

It's obvious that Narcissa is not going to drop the subject, and Lily turns back to face her.  "I think you should ask Severus himself."

"Lucius can get you papers," Narcissa says, suddenly.  

"I'm sorry?"

"The trees," she says.  "You've not missed the decree that all wizarding families must display their family tree and magical heritage in their entrance halls, have you?"

She has.  The decrees are coming thick and fast these days - it makes her head spin to keep up with the new and inventive ways that the Ministry are concocting to subjugate those who share her blood.  "We were unaware."

"You saw ours on the way in?"

"Yes."  She had - but she'd assumed it was usual, and not newly acquired.  She wonders how Hogwarts is exempt from the decree, and hopes that it doesn't find itself caught up in a rehash of the legislation.

Narcissa gives a tight nod.  "He can help.  Not a Malfoy or Black heritage, you understand - but a Prewett line seems likely.  A distant cousin.  Newly discovered."

"And they'll accept that?  The Ministry?"

"They do if the right number of galleons cross their palms," she says, tightly.  "And it would be enough for Severus to be protected."

And then she understands.  This isn't about her - it's about Severus, and his destiny, and their joint investment into him.  Lily's voice is a little colder when she speaks.  "He is protected already.  We have separated."

"Yes, I can see that," Narcissa says, drolly.  "You should think about it.  Talk it through with him."

"I shall," Lily affirms, but Narcissa sighs loudly, as if she can tell that she won't.

"If something should happen to him," Narcissa warns, "you will require all of the help you can get."  She pauses.  "We may be willing, but if you remain at your current blood status, it might be impossible for us to do so."  Then she straightens her back, and ushers Lily to the door.  "Now, finally, I must show you the nursery.  It is where Lucius himself grew up."

* * *

The lights are dimmed, and the records are loud, and she watches fondly as Severus waltzes Narcissa carefully around the grand room.  Not too long ago, she'd have been jealous or concerned, but she _knows_ Severus - and after tonight, she knows that Narcissa understands how he feels about their relationship.  Instead, she happily watches as her man glides the willing witch around the floor with ease, his steps matching hers in perfect synchronicity.

Lily doesn't take Lucius' hand to dance, and he doesn't offer it again.  He seems more an edge than on previous occasions, and although he has not commented as to the variety of family emergency disturbed him, it's clearly unnerved him.  He composes himself enough to clap Severus on the shoulder when the song ends, and takes his place with his wife, quickly moving her across the dance floor.  

Severus drops down onto the seat next to Lily, a gleam of sweat on his brow.  "Don't want to dance?"

"Not with him."

He gives a low chuckle.  "Keep that thought to yourself, love."  

She watches as the married couple move around the room, and Lily can see Lucius' influence on her boyfriend - it's just like watching Severus, and she quickly realises that the Malfoys likely taught him how to dance.  "They're good."

"I'll show you," he says, raising his hand a little in offering, but she doesn't take it.

"I'll embarrass you."

He leans behind her, reaching for their drinking glasses, and passes one to her.  "Impossible."

She takes a sip and points at Narcissa's feet.  "Look at how gracefully she moves.  I'd trample you."

"People always think that leading is harder," he muses.  "The men move, and the women follow - but wherever I place my foot, there will be no other.  Men have no such fear."  He sips his drink. "Lucius taught me before unleashing me on Narcissa. He made sure I knew how to control my movements.  If you can follow, you can easily lead."

"He danced as the lead?  And you as-"

He's up then, joining his friends, and she can hear a low laugh - _Lucius?_ \- as he mumbles something to them.  Then Narcissa casts at the record player, and the music abruptly changes into something faster and more upbeat.  Lily watches in surprise as Lucius pulls Severus into his embrace and the two move jauntily together, keeping perfect time with their steps.

"Shall we?" asks Narcissa, who has swept across the floor to invite her to join her, and this time, Lily feels as if she cannot refuse.  She follows the older woman to the floor, and she catches Severus' eye as he moves past at a pace, a broad grin on his face.

* * *

Severus looks anxious as Lucius makes his excuses once more, and departs from the room.  "That's the third time.  Should I go with him, Cissy?"

Narcissa shakes her head immediately.  "It's his father."

At this, Severus straightens in his seat.  "Mr Malfoy has returned from overseas?"  He puts his glass down.  "I can assist, if-"

"No, Severus."  Narcissa's slender hand touches the back of his own.  "Lucius has it under control."

"Is that what this is in honour of?" Lily asks, daringly - ignoring Severus' furious glare.  "This...celebration?"

Narcissa gives a soft laugh.  "Abraxas Malfoy looming large over Lucius once more?  No, that is nothing to celebrate, my dear."  She shoots them both a curious look.  "I thought one of you may have noticed whilst we were dancing, but perhaps we were not close enough for you to sense it."  She reaches for Lily's hand, and gently places it near to her stomach.

Lily's mouth opens a little wider, and Severus blinks rapidly, as the implication dawns on them both.  "The fresh paint upstairs," Lily comments, entranced by the faint swirl of magic she can feel around her hand.  

"A child?" Severus asks, gruffly.

"Feel," Narcissa says, reaching for him to join Lily, but he pulls away.

"There's no need," he says, with a tight smile.  "Congratulations to you both."  He stands, and Lily looks at him oddly, but he darts a kiss onto her forehead.  "I know he's busy, but I feel I should speak with Lucius directly."

And before Narcissa can protest, he's gone.


	46. Our fathers' sons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a brief mention of some historical dubcon in this chapter.

It's been years since he's been in this part of the Manor, and Severus doesn't know what to expect when he sprints down the corridor and into Abraxas' large study.  Whatever he'd imagined he'd find, he didn't anticipate that the two Malfoy men would be at wand point.  Severus quickly slides his own wand into his hand and points it between each of them, not quite having decided who his target should be.

"Good evening, young Severus," says Abraxas smoothly.  "It has been a long while."

"Mr Malfoy."  Severus glances at his friend.  "You all right, Malf?"

"Go back to Cissy, Severus," Lucius says, his wand not moving from his father.  "Father and I have some things to discuss."

Severus doesn't move his feet, but his wand continues to track between the two men.  "Oh yes?  Things you didn't manage to discuss on your previous visits here this evening?"

Abraxas chuckles.  "The boy has your measure, son."

At that, Lucius flicks his wand, and before Severus can react, Abraxas has been disarmed.  Lucius' pockets his father's wand, and then quickly binds his wrists.

"Malf, come on-"

"Yes, come on.  Listen to your sensible friend, Lucius.  Stop being so hot-headed-"

" _Silencio!_ "  Lucius casts quickly, and then drops his father's wand on the desk.  "I apologise for my lack of decorum, Severus.  Father has rather been trying my patience of late."

"I didn't even realise he was back."  

At this, Abraxas shakes his head strongly, and Severus frowns.  

"...you didn't ever go away?" 

Abraxas nods, and Severus looks at Lucius with barely disguised horror.

"Enough," Lucius says, sounding weary.  He summons a bottle of brandy from the other side of the room, and pours a generous measure into one glass.  "Let us celebrate the return of old friends."  He swirls the generous measure of liquid in the glass, and then holds it out before his father, pressing it firmly against his closed lips.  "Drink up, Father."

Abraxas stares at him, his eyes narrowing, and as Lucius tips the liquid insistently against his face, he shakes his head firmly.

"Malf, I-"  

"You are making a mess," Lucius scolds, as if Severus hasn't spoken.  Lucius reaches over, and firmly pinches his father's nostrils closed.  Severus can barely continue to watch as Abraxas struggles to breathe without opening his mouth, his cheeks filling with dark scarlet.  

Lucius gazes at his father impassively, unaffected, before Abraxas' jaw finally drops open, the battle lost.  His body silently gasps for air in great gulps, and Lucius takes his opportunity, forcing the alcohol into Abraxas' mouth.  The alcohol dribbles down the stubbled chin of the older man, falling onto his fine robes, and finally spattering onto the floor.

"Malf, I really don't think-"

"Keep out of this, Severus," Lucius mutters, banging the empty glass down onto the desk.  "This is between myself and Father."

Severus doesn't comment again - daren't comment again - and watches dumbly as Lucius stands next to his father, muttering something in his ear.  He stands in silence as Lucius reverentially unbinds Abraxas' hands, and places Abraxas' wand back into his grasp.  Lucius runs a gentle finger down the side of Abraxas' cheek and smiles at him fondly, before helping him out of his chair and bodily moving him across the room.  

Then, as if he's remembered he has company, he looks over at Severus.  "Either you can stare at me disapprovingly as I drag him back to his room, or you can assist."

It's not a question.  Severus quickly hoists Abraxas' other arm over his shoulder and the two shuffle the older man out of the study and up to his bedroom.

* * *

"Are we going to talk about it?" he asks quietly, anxiously passing the tumbler of whisky between one hand the other.

"You can drink that," Lucius says, not answering the question.  "There's nothing wrong with it. Watch."  He throws his head back, dramatically downing his own drink, and then pours another.  "Drink, Severus."

With a hint of reluctance, Severus brings his glass to his mouth and takes a sip.   _It tastes normal_.  "Thank you."

Lucius stares at him for a long moment, and then sips his drink.  "We should get back to the girls.  They'll wonder where we are."

"Can we talk about it with them?  Does Cissy know?"

"Know what?  That Father's in the Manor?  Of course she knows.  She lives here."

"And she knows that you're drugging him, does she?"

Lucius gives a sharp shake of his head.  "She thinks he's sick."  He pauses.  "It's not far from the truth, of course."

Severus looks pained.  "You don't have to do this.  There are places you could send him - places where people could look after-"

" _I_ am looking after him," Lucius snaps.  "I look after him, and I look after Cissy, and I look after the Malfoy name."  He shakes his head angrily.  "He was ruining us, Severus!"

"...ruining you?"

"It was my father bankrolling the Dark Lord," Lucius says, his voice hard.  "Those anti-Muggleborn campaigns when we were at Hogwarts?  All Malfoy money."

It's as if Severus' heart has stilled. "Your _father_?"

"I do not care to repeat myself."  Lucius pours another measure and hands the bottle to Severus.

"And does he still?"

There's a long silence.  "A little," he admits.  "I would rather not, but I am aware that pulling away entirely would be suicide for us all."

Severus nods, remembering only too well his own encounter with the Dark Lord.  "And the Dark Lord has forgiven you for the dramatic drop in his income?"

Lucius swallows hard.  "He was not pleased, but the Dark Lord appreciates that I cannot be held responsible for my father's decisions.  All of the money that leaves this estate bears his name."

Severus stares evenly at his friend, piecing the puzzle together.  "Your father signs the cheques, and you choose where they go."

"Indeed."

"The Ministry included?"

"...I do not select their vendettas," he says, stiffly, "if that's what you're asking."

"You can't do something about these ridiculous laws?"

"I put Fudge in post," Lucius says.  "For now, that is enough."

"You count Fudge as an achievement?"  Severus looks astonished.

Lucius stares at his friend evenly.  "It is."

"And what does your father think of his name being attached to such a...weak Minister?  He doesn't complain?"

Lucius laughs darkly.  "He has no choice."  He pauses.  "He has little knowledge.  A quill mark here and there.  He has no need to know the recipient."

Severus looks a little green.  "And if he does find out?  If he does-"

"What can he do?  You saw what happened tonight, and that's the furthest he's ever got.  It shall not be happening again." Lucius says.  "I need to control the dosage a little more firmly, that is all."

"Imperatum doesn't work like that."  Severus sips his drink, and then places it to one side, his intellectual curiosity piqued.  "Imperatum is a compliance potion.  You should know yourself that taking it day-on-day, week-on-week, or even year-on-year doesn't cause tolerance or immunity."

Lucius' eyelids shut as the fact dawns on him.  "...no."

"Compliance is compliance."  There's a long pause as Lucius takes this in, and Severus can practically see the thought swirling around his friend's mind.  "Unless you're giving him Imperatum by pipette instead of by glass?" 

Lucius shakes his head.

Severus continues, "Then it's impossible for the dosage to be weak enough for him to break out like he did tonight."

"If it's not the dose, what could it be?"

"This has come on all of a sudden?  No warning signs?"

"No warning signs."

Severus sniffs.  "It's something he's consuming."

"His diet is the same as it ever was," Lucius says, mulling it over.  "I cannot think what it could be.  One of the elves interfering, perhaps?  I could threaten them with clothes, see if that stops it?"  He looks pained.  "Perhaps it would be easier for all concerned if my father were to…"  He doesn't finish the thought.  He doesn't need to.

The silence is almost overwhelming, and then Severus leans forward.  "And when the time comes," Severus whispers, "when you can no longer hide behind your father's name when ink meets cheque, what will you do then?"

"I do not know.  It all depends on which way the wind blows."  Lucius gives him a strained smile.  "...I think we understand each other."

They sit in quiet companionship, sipping from their glasses, until Severus looks up once more.  "Do you feel anything?"

"Like what?"

"Guilt?"

Lucius takes a shuddering breath.  "No."  And then his gaze meets Severus' own.  "I never knew he was doing it until you pointed it out that day."

Severus knows the day that Lucius is referring to - he can remember being offered a drink in Abraxas' study, and sensing the liquid had been tampered with.  He can remember Lucius' manner shifting ever so subtly after imbibing.  He can remember sitting down and writing the letter to Lucius which contained his suspicions.  He knew that letter had caused a rift in the Malfoy family - Abraxas had suggested to the wizarding world that he had business overseas, but Severus had known at the time that his departure was for other reasons.  And now, tonight, it turns out that he didn't leave at all.  Tonight, it turns out that the rift between father and son hadn't healed, and his friend had been exacting his revenge in the only way he knew how.  Severus feels pained, as if he was somehow partially responsible.

"Give him no mercy, Severus," Lucius hisses, as if realising the root of his silence.  "After all these years of him controlling me and my mother, it felt fitting to turn the tables against him."

There's something in Lucius' hard look that bothers him, and Severus downs his drink, keen to return to Lily.  "We should head back."

"No," Lucius says.  "Why were you looking for me?  I thought I instructed you to stay with Cissy."

"I thought we should celebrate," he says, the words almost sticking in his throat after what he's just seen, "your impending fatherhood."

"With our experiences of fathers, I do not think it is worthy of celebration."

Severus gives him a tight smile.  "You're not Abraxas.  You're Lucius.  You'll be just fine."

"I appreciate the sentiment, Severus, but the fact remains, it is not much of a celebration if you cannot be sure that your wife's child is your own."

Severus laughs loudly, expecting it to be a dark thread of humour - but when he catches Lucius' furious look, he stills.  "Malf?  You can't be serious?"

"Deadly."

"Cissy?  She's devoted to you.  Of course it's your child!"

"Women.  They're all whores."

"Merlin...you _are_ serious.  Malf, you can't think that of Cissy, she-"

"-she what, Severus?  She'd have fucked you if you'd have had her!" Lucius snaps.  He exhales loudly - angrily, and it's as if the stress of the night has taken its toll on him.  "All this!  Look around you, Severus - all of this, and yet she'd have fucked _you_."

"Because you wanted her to," Severus argues, his jaw set.  "She throws herself at men because she thinks that's what you want her to do.  No, don't look like that - she told me as much!" He grabs his friend's arm, pulling him to meet his gaze.  "Want to tell me that I'm wrong?  No?  That's because you can't!"

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"I do!  She _told_ me!  Told me that you get off on the control - on the power you hold over both her and whoever she's shagging."

Lucius stares at him fiercely.  "I didn't ask her to behave like that."

"Malf, are you..."  Severus shakes his head, struggling to believe what he's hearing.  "You've encouraged her all along!"

"She needed little encouragement from me."

"You're hardly loyal yourself!"

"What's the point in being loyal to someone who's sleeping with half of-"

"-no, no, you forget that I was there when this all started," Severus spits, his fury building.  "In my fourth year!  You think I've forgotten?"

Lucius shakes his head repeatedly, getting up and pacing around the room.  "It's not the same."

"You _forced_ her that night!"

"I did not!"  Lucius squares up to him then, and Severus stands, both men with their hands balled by their sides.  "I didn't _make_ her do anything.  She wasn't under a potion, she wasn't under a spell-"

"But her _boyfriend_ ," Severus grinds out, his chest heaving with anger, "ordered her to suck Bast off, didn't he?"

"It's not the same.  Her will was her own.  It was a stupid drunken game, and I only said it to see if she would.  To see what she was really like."

"Fuck me, Malf, how are you this stupid?  She did it because she thought you'd dump her if she didn't.  She did it because you told her you wanted her to - that it was turning you on, and if she loved you, she'd do it!  I heard what you said - I was there!"

"She didn't do it to please me.  She did it because she's as much of a whore as the rest of them!"

"I always thought you loved her," Severus says, quietly, sitting back down and holding his head in his hands.  "I thought you were devoted to her."

"...I am."

"Then how can you speak that way about her?  If you think so little of her, why did you go ahead and marry her?"

And Lucius looks up, his eyes haunted.  "Because if they're all the same - if they're all destined to sleep around behind your back, then at least she was willing to keep up appearances.  To obey me.  To let me control the situation, so the Prophet doesn't run riot with tales of debauchery."  Lucius shakes his head at Severus, when he opens his mouth to speak.  "You don't even know the half of it.  I let her do as she pleases, and she permits me the same freedom - and then we both put on the public face that you know so well."  He gives a twisted laugh.  "How can I do that if the child is born and it is not of Malfoy stock?"

"I thought my old man was bad enough," Severus says, aghast, "but your twisted father really did a number on you, didn't he?"

* * *

They finally head back to the women, but the evening is over - Narcissa is tired, and Lucius looks drained.  As they walk down the corridor to the entrance hall, Lily glances between the two men, but their forced joviality betrays nothing of what had transpired over the previous hour.  She stands outside the house with Narcissa, politely watching as Narcissa absently pets one of the peacocks, and Lily pretends not to witness Severus and Lucius embrace.  She can just about see Severus' hand threading through Lucius' hair as he murmurs into his ear.  

"Don't do anything you'll regret," he says, softly.  "There are ways of finding out parentage."

"After it's arrived."

"Before," Severus says.  "Long before.  I'll find a way."  And then he pulls back, his hand resting on the back of Lucius' neck.  "Look after her.  She'll need you more than ever."  He wants to say more, but Narcissa steps back towards them, and the look in Lucius' eyes is odd.  "Thank you for the hospitality, Malf."  There's a moment, and then Severus blurts it out, no longer caring if he's speaking out of turn.  "Don't let history repeat."

Lucius gives a tight smile, and places his arm around his wife's waist.  "What can I say?  We are our fathers' sons."

Severus shakes his head.  "No, Malf.  We are so much more."

And with that, he takes Lily's hand and they march back up the path to the wrought iron gates.

* * *

He's silent once they arrive back at Hogwarts.  She wants to ask him what happened - wants to ask him what his and Lucius' riddles about their fathers were all about, but she can tell from the steely look on his face, it wouldn't be a welcome discussion.  She doesn't know Lucius' father, but she knows Severus' only too well - and it's somewhat of a relief to hear Severus acknowledging that his path doesn't have to be the same as his father's.  It was something her parents quietly fretted about, she was aware of that much.  And here Severus was, keen to point out that he was not prepared to stand in his father's shadow.

It makes her want to hold him - makes her want to find out what had brought such a sentiment on, but he's quiet.  Too quiet.  She gives him some space, and goes for a shower, and when she returns with a large towel wrapped around her and using a flannel to rub water from her ear, she sees him sitting cross-legged before the bookcase, engrossed in a thick book.

"Busy?"

"Mmm," he grunts, flicking another page.

"That was a nice evening."

"Mmm."

"The dancing was enjoyable."

"Mmm."

"And the food was lovely."

"Mmm."

She narrows her eyes, certain he's not listening.  "Cissy offered me papers."

"Mmm...she what?"

"Papers," she says, and now he's standing, the book dropped on the floor and long forgotten.

"Cissy can get you papers?" he asks, keenly.

"Lucius can," she corrects, "but they're one and the same."

He doesn't answer that, but he inhales slowly.  "What sort of papers?"

"Halfblood ones."

"And the cost?"

She shakes her head.  "I think you've already paid."

He scoffs.  "No such thing.  Not where Lucius is concerned."  He stares at her, his mind racing.  "I don't understand why.  I know they were kind to you tonight, but-"

"-you don't have to remind me that they're purists, Severus."

"Exactly.  What reason did she give to you?"

"That it's to protect you.  Why else would they bother?"  She smiles thinly.  "They're certainly not interested in my scintillating personality."

"No," he says, taking her hand as he snaps the lights off with his wand, "but then I rather suggest that is their loss."

* * *

He lets her take the lead.  It's as if she can tell that he's emotionally exhausted, because she doesn't ask anything of him - she undresses him reverentially, and kisses him gently, and when she suggests that he lie back on the pillows and rest, her fingertips dancing across his skin, he finds himself drifting off to sleep.

"Sorry," he says, his voice a little thick as he jolts back awake.  "I didn't mean-"

"-it's fine," she laughs, kissing his collarbone.

"It's not fine," he says, petulance in his tone.  "I wanted you.  This evening, when you were getting ready."

"When you were watching me?"

"All I could think about was what I would do to you when I got you home," he mutters, "and now I'm here, I've fallen asleep."  

"You're insatiable," she teases.  "You'd only just that moment had me."  She gives him a strange look.  "Ready to tell me what that was all about?"

He shakes his head, his smile playful.  "You want me to tell you all of my secrets."

"No, just the ones that concern me."  

He grins, and she can't continue the thought because he pulls her closer, his warm mouth meeting hers.  They lie entwined together, their bodies pressed against each other, and then as he finally positions himself between her legs, he murmurs, "I don't want to keep any secrets from you."

A small groan escapes her as he moves inside her, and she slides her hands around his neck - suddenly reminding her of the possessive hold Severus had had on Lucius before they returned home.  "...he's going to be a father."

The comment causes him to falter in his rhythm, and he gives a soft laugh before gently nipping at her neck.  "Thinking about Malf, are you?"

"They're going to be parents."

"Mmm."

"Lucius and Narcissa."

"Mmm."

"She'll make a good mum, I think."

"Mmm."

"And it might be just the thing for Lucius to-"

"-Merlin, Lil," he groans, snapping his hips harder against her, "can you whisper something sexy to me instead of talking about bloody Malf?  Or are you trying to tell me something?"

"I _am_ trying to tell you something," she says, and this time he stops completely - as if he's been slapped, or frozen, and his jaw tightens, and his eyebrows raise.

 _Are Lucius and Abraxas right?  Are all women the same?  If she's thinking about him when_ \- and then she grabs his left hand and presses it against her stomach, and his heart almost stops.  He pulls out of her, his mouth gaping, and his hand fixed in place. "Lil…that's..."

"It's not my magic," she whispers.  

"Oh fuck."

"You can feel it?"

"Yes," he says, hoarsely - and he knows she's right; the swirl is different, and he can't believe he hasn't noticed until this moment.  His fingers dance over the same patch of skin, almost basking in the gleeful spiral of magic emanating from her. "When did you know?"

"Not until tonight.  I didn't know it manifested like this.  Not until I touched Narcissa, and then it fell into place.  Moody said something to me the other day, and it-"

"Moody knows?"  He looks terrified.

She shakes her head.  "No, don't worry.  Moody just commented on my magic pulsing more strongly.  He didn't determine it was different.  He's got no idea."

"I don't want him to find out."

"He won't," she says.  "I won't let him get close enough to work it out."  She pauses, and then kisses him.  "He thought you'd done something to me."

He gives a soft laugh.  "Well, I have, haven't I?"  And then he drops his head to where his hand still lies, and kisses across her soft stomach.  "Merlin's beard, love.  What the _hell_ are we going to do?"


	47. Trapped

He hadn't always been a skulker.  As a kid, he'd been the opposite - he'd had presence, and he was quick, and his reflexes were fast.  He'd been cautious and quiet when he first started hanging around at the park - he'd watched Lily for weeks, and when he'd realised she had magic, he desperately didn't want to scare her away.  However, once they were friends, he was back to his usual energetic self - prone to charging around with his hands windmilling through the air, leaping off play equipment or out of trees or scrabbling over railings, yelling and whooping, and letting off steam in exactly the way his parents disapproved of when he was in the house.

The change came when he reached Hogwarts.  It might have been in the first year, or maybe the second.  And it might have been the onset of puberty which wrenched him out of his childish exuberance, causing him to become self-conscious.  His demeanour shifted, betraying his lack of confidence - an act which coincided with the unrelenting onslaught of misery bestowed upon him by his bullies.  He learnt to duck and dodge, evade and run, and their group taught him that retaliation was best served from the shadows, crouched in darkness, instead of in an open duel pitted one wand against four.  Either way, he was haunted, the long school corridors were full of enemies - some wearing red, others wearing green - and his body grew far too quickly for him to remain agile.  Instead, his limbs were suddenly oversized and awkward, giving him an elongated, lanky appearance, and causing him to appear clumsy, his previously smooth actions replaced by gawkish fumbling.  

It wouldn't have been fair to have said he was universally reviled at Hogwarts - there was Malf and Narcissa, Reggie Black and Avery, Mulciber and Evan Rosier, and best of all, there was Lily.  But more often than not, the shouts of his name in the corridor weren't accompanied by a cheerful clap on the shoulder and an high-spirited greeting, but instead were sneering condemnation - if his real name was used at all.

_"Snivellus."_

Even now, he can hardly bear to think about the hated name; it makes his skin crawl, and his gut clench.

_"Oi, Snivellus!"_

Finding his body awkward in those middle years, he'd started to slink and skulk, desperate not to be noticed, and striving to blend into the background.  He stuck to the castle's shadows and became an expert in avoiding pools of illumination.  He learnt to press his body against the cool brickwork as he traversed the castle, his features obscured by his cloak and the relative darkness.  Nobody else walked in the shadows, so he made it his domain - and without anyone to talk to, he simply listened to the bustle of conversation around him, overhearing fragments of conversation as other students passed him - and if he was sufficiently intrigued, he'd silently follow them, often resulting in him ending up on the wrong side of the castle to wherever his next lesson was meant to be.

_"Late again, Mr Snape?  That's the second time this week and it's only Wednesday.  Detention with Mr Filch tonight."_

Still, he learnt a lot that way.  

Then in sixth year, he grew again - becoming taller and stronger, and adding lean muscle to his frame.  He was still underweight and he'd never attain the sort of athletic body that could be found on the inner pages of League Quidditch Monthly - he was far too interested in reading to start hanging off broomsticks like Potter and Black, with their thicker, muscular bodies - but he was starting to see the benefits of his extra height, and his longer limbs.  One spring holiday, he followed a cat around Hogwarts, studying how it leapt and crept, and then spent the rest of the week emulating it.

 _Oh, to be an Animagus_.

His practice paid off, but although he may have become nimble on his feet, in daily life, Severus Snape remained a skulker.  His new height gave him a long, quick stride, and he was more than capable of breaking into a fast sprint when required - but he didn't power down the corridors of Hogwarts with a commanding presence.  He didn't saunter like Black, or strut like Potter, and he didn't fill the space as the four Gryffindor friends did, bantering and jostling for position, refusing to give way to anyone walking in the opposite direction.  

No, Severus Snape skulked.  He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, hunched his shoulders, and rounded his back.  He kicked at invisible scuffs on the floors, creating marks where the stone had previously been unblemished, earning him Filch's ire.  He followed, and he watched, and he may have been increasingly quick to raise his wand when he sensed danger - but most of all, he skulked.

Which is why it was a surprise to the teaching staff of old to see Severus Snape moving down the dungeon corridor with a smirk on his face, and a bounce in his step.

_A dad._

He's always been rational - far more so than Lily, who has always been prone to flights of fancy, or following her heart no matter the consequences - and deep down, he knows this is a terrible idea.  He ticks off the problems as he scales the stairs of the castle, adrenaline pumping through him - starting with the war, and the Dark Lord, and Dumbledore.  He thinks about Slughorn and Jigger, Belby and Borage, his apprenticeship and hers - and living at Hogwarts.  Can a baby even live at the school?  He thinks about Malf and Cissy and their impending child, and Petunia and Dunderhead Dursley and whether they've managed to conceive since they saw them last - or whether he and Lily winning the race will be a sore point within the wider family for decades to come.  

And then he thinks about his mam and his da and what they'll say - if anything at all.  His da might just keep listening to the football and reading the paper, and his mam drinking her tea and smoking her ciggies.  Maybe she'll ask him if they are going to bring the baby up in the magical world, or do what she did and retreat back to Cokeworth and - _oh fuck_ \- they'll have to tell _her_ parents, which will be a million times worse.  

He doesn't really care what his parents will or won't do - he doesn't care if they'll approve, doesn't care if they shout at him, or throw things, or scream at him that he's ruined his life, or Lily's life, or both of their lives.  He doesn't care if they shake his hand, or congratulate him.  He knows Tobias and Eileen - he knows that they'll come around eventually, and that their hearts are generally in the right place, even if they say the wrong thing to begin with.  He knows that at some point, he'll take a kid - _his kid_ \- to the door, wrapped in a bundle of blankets, and clutching a teddy bear, and his mam will spend the afternoon doting on the baby, whilst his da stands around with his hands in his pockets and his chest puffed out, talking nonsense about responsibilities that the Lord himself knows that Tobias never kept.  All whilst keeping a safe distance from the youngster - Tobias was once bitten twice shy when it came to babies and accidental magic.  Severus caused more than a few upsets with his father before he could even babble coherently.  He's not sure if Tobias has even really forgiven him now, two decades on.

No, Severus doesn't care at all about his parents - they'll come around, or they won't - but there is a cold twist of trepidation within him at the idea of the two Muggles he's come to view with something nearing affection, the ones Lily still calls Mummy and Daddy, being displeased.  Being displeased at the baby, being displeased with him, being displeased with her.  And if they are displeased, he'll have to sit there with his head bowed, not like a respected father-to-be, but as a fumbling awkward boy who needs to be berated by David.  Or maybe David won't merely berate him.  Maybe it will be even worse - maybe David will refuse to acknowledge the news, or he'll try and change the subject, or maybe he'll cough disapprovingly, with his eyebrows raised.  Severus had been on the receiving end of one of _those_ coughs before.  This time, the implication will be that they should get rid of the child - that Lily shouldn't shackle himself to Severus.  Maybe Rose will cry, and if she does, how will he know if they are tears of joy?  Maybe she won't be thinking about babygrows and baby clothes, and cots and blankets and booties and cardigans.  Or if she is, maybe she'll be propelled back in her memories to the days when her girls were swaddled, and how he - the undeserving waif who had stumbled across their youngest child in a perverse twist of fate - has not only stolen her from their world, and dragged her into his world of magic, but now he's stolen both her innocence, and her opportunities.  

And when he thinks about it like that, it's enough to make him feel a bit ill.  

Maybe this isn't a happy occasion.  Maybe his exhilarated reaction is silly - after all, Lily was so quiet when they were whispering to each other as he held her in his arms in the darkness - maybe she doesn't feel the same.  Maybe she thinks that he's ruined her life.  Maybe, instead of talking about the baby, he should've been talking about marriage.  He should've married her already.  Should've married her when this blood status nonsense started - if she'd have had him.

Blood status.

He grimaces, thinking about blood - thinking about the new legislation about family trees, which he had been completely unaware of.  He wonders which of their Muggle names would be best to bestow on a child in a world where magic is the only thing of importance.  There aren't any magical Snapes, him aside, he knows that much - but are there any Evanses?  Maybe Malf _could_ get them some papers.  Maybe they could delve into his mother's family tree, and find a Prince - a male Prince.  For years, he'd looked more like his mam; maybe he could find an old portrait or a moving photograph where he looks like a long lost uncle or second cousin, and maybe it will be enough for them to build a credible story around.  Anything to give their child the opportunities that his parents hadn't had.  Anything to spare the kid the ignominy of having a tainted name. After all, this child wouldn't be a Muggle or a Muggleborn, or even a Halfblood child who grew up ensconced in the Muggle world.  

Their child would be a Half, just like Severus - but unlike Severus, their child would have everything.  They'd be a true Half.  A Half living in the magical world, with all the benefits that would bring.  He or she - and he couldn't bring himself to think about the differences just yet - would be loved and cherished and adored, and he'd be the sort of dad who'd spend time with their kid - teaching them to read and to brandish a wand.  Oh!  What a witch or wizard their child would be, with his and Lily's magic melding together, all that talent and energy poured into one single human.  After all, Slughorn always knew Severus had potential - still has it, even - and Severus can still literally feel Lily's magic thrumming around her.  He knows Slughorn had felt it from the pair of them from the moment he met them, and he had been keen to harness both of their abilities, so how much more powerful would their offspring be with all of their powers combined?  

The idea of a baby is still unnerving, but Lily could do all the stuff he found so difficult - the declarations of love and the bodily contact that small humans apparently craved.  Maybe he could even do that himself when it came to it.  He managed to do it with Lily - showing her how he felt, tangling his fingers with hers or pulling her into his arms, kissing her on the forehead and remembering to be affectionate when he woke up in the morning, or departed for his day at work.  He could do that with his kid, couldn't he?  It would be no different.  He just needed to forget how his parents acted - do the opposite, in fact! - that's all he did with Lily; thought about how Eileen and Tobias behaved, and disregarded it entirely.  He could do all of those things he'd secretly craved as a kid - all the things he'd desperately hoped his parents would do, like being read to at bedtime.  If he'd wanted that to happen, then his own child would be no different, surely?  But either way, he's been able to show Lily how he feels, and so the child would know - the child would _know_ that Lily loves Severus, and Severus loves Lily, and they both want and adore their child.

That idea - the idea of a loving partner and a child who hero-worships their father - is enough to keep a wide smile on his face, even though deep down, he knows this is definitely a bad idea.  It's illogical.  He's too impatient to be gentle with a baby, and they're both too poor, and the world around them is at war.  He knows that babies make a mess, and a noise, and they ruin your sleep.  He knows they cost a fortune, and he knows that he and Lily have got few galleons saved.

Despite all of that, he can't bear to think about the alternative.  He can't bear to think about a future where they actively did something to change it.  He can't think about potions or charms, he can't think about hospitals and healers.  A week ago, the thought of a child would've terrified him, and if he'd been offered, he'd have said no.  But now that the child exists, all he can think about is _his_ baby growing inside _his_ girlfriend.  He wants to see her rounded with _his_ offspring, a declaration that she's chosen _him_ \- above all others - to be her best friend and boyfriend and partner and mate forever and ever and ever.  

 _Mine mine mine mine mine_.

He should've married her.  He feels oddly guilty about it - ashamed, even.  She should have a ring, and a declaration of his love and his sincerity to stand beside her, providing for her and their family.  Yet somehow, this is deeper than marriage. Their DNA mixing together to create a new life means that their relationship will live on, long past his death or hers.  

And that possessive primal howl bellows inside him, his grin growing ever wider.

_Mine!_

* * *

His excitement dumbfounds her.  

She doesn't know what to expect when she blurts the news out; she wasn't intending on saying anything.  The revelation that there is a small life growing inside of her is fresh in her own mind, and she had spent the final hour at Malfoy Manor in quiet contemplation, although she hadn't permitted Narcissa to refill her glass with alcohol.  

_Narcissa shot her a curious look.  "You don't have to abstain on my account.  I don't mind."_

_"Us girls have got to stick together," Lily said, with a tight smile, and she raised her empty glass - which, with a snap of Narcissa's fingers, was quickly filled with fresh orange juice by an obliging house elf._

When Severus and Lucius returned, their mood was sombre, and Severus was drawn and quiet when they reached Hogwarts.  From his parting words to Lucius, it was evident that fatherhood had been addressed, but she was unsure whether it was Lucius' father, or Lucius' impending fatherhood that had been the centre of their discussion - but his quiet mood was hardly conducive to dropping the bombshell that he, Severus, would be joining his best friend in such a life-changing event.

She excuses herself to use the bathroom, telling him that she was planning on a long shower, and he quietly nods, happy to settle himself before the bookcase.  They had a Muggle pregnancy test in the bathroom cupboard, and once she's cast against the door to stop him from bursting in unexpectedly, she digs it out. Her mother had given it to her when she'd first moved in with Severus, despite her protestations that it was unnecessary.

_"Mummy, we're safe-"_

_Rose gave a slight shake of the head.  "If I had a pound for all of the teenagers in Britain who've said the same-"_

_"Severus has a potion!  And I take the pill, and-"_

_"No method is one hundred percent," Rose said, pulling her daughter close to her, and squeezing her in a warm hug.  "I know you're both sensible, but there will come a time when something happens - when you're sick and you throw up a potion, or when you don't make it to the pharmacy to refill your prescription, or-"_

_"We won't!"_

_"-and," Rose continued, as if Lily hadn't spoken, "there will be a night when something doesn't feel quite right, and you will want to check."  She waved the package, and then pushed it into Lily's hands.  "This is for that night."_

And now, all those months on, this was that night.  

It is a strange contraption, all things considered, and it looks as if it would be more at home on the shelves in Slughorn's laboratory instead of being sold in a Muggle shop.  Worst of all, the packaging advises that it will take two hours for the results to show.

She casts a timing charm by the sink, and carefully places the used test inside the cabinet.  She forces herself to take her time - to slowly and deliberately clean her teeth, and remove her makeup, and file her nails - and once she can't stall any longer, she heads for the shower.  She stands under the spray, and groans, trying to relax under the torrents of water.  After washing her hair - twice - and adding ample conditioner, she can't help but roam her hands around her body, checking for any signs of change - any signs of a new life settling inside her.  To her dismay, everything looks and feels exactly as it had a month ago, and the month before that, and the month before that.  She hasn't experienced sickness or pain, as Narcissa had complained so heartily of, and she wasn't tender, or sore, or excessively tired. In fact, if it hadn't been for that tell-tale swirl of magic around her navel, she wouldn't have ever guessed.  She idly wonders how long she'd have remained ignorant - a week?  Two?  Would she have skipped a period and started to worry, or without any signs, would she have assumed that it was a hormonal blip?  Would it have taken two months, or three?  Would she have started to show before she guessed - or would Severus have been the one to work it out?  She waves her hand back over her stomach, and she feels the soft pulse of magic, growing stronger as her hand glides over her skin.

"You're definitely in there, aren't you?" she asks, softly - and she finds herself wondering if she wants there to be life within her, or not.  

_Perhaps it's not a baby.  Perhaps it's something else._

She snaps off the shower, half wondering if Severus will start calling for her to hurry up and join him in bed - but he is utterly silent.  She presses her ear against the door, and she can't hear anything, which suggests he has either tired of waiting for her and has headed for bed - which seems unlikely - or he is still reading, which is rather more in line with Severus' usual behaviour.

When she finally emerges from the bathroom, her towel wrapped around her, he's still sitting before the bookcase, his nose stuck between the pages of a thick book.  He hasn't even made it to a chair, so it's of no surprise when he doesn't comment on how long she has taken - she doubts he's even noticed.

The positive result of the test is burning on the tip of her tongue, but he is distracted - barely responding to her, so she deliberately avoids the subject.  Instead, she raises the issue of Narcissa and the offer of papers, because the issue of blood status is screaming in her mind; if they _were_ to have a child it would be better if he or she could be registered as the offspring of two Halfbloods, instead of being tainted by the touch of a Muggleborn.  

As she expects, the mention of papers catches his attention, and then they end up in bed, and she really didn't mean to say anything at that point.  She meant to touch him, to love him, to reassure him that whatever had gone on between himself and Lucius, she adored him.  She doesn't want him dwelling on Tobias, or whatever else he and Lucius had been discussing - especially not now.  She could pick the topic up again tomorrow, after breakfast, when they were both fed and sober - or maybe even after their evening meal, when work was done, and they could both relax by the fire, certain they wouldn't be disturbed.  That seems like the best idea, and she's ready to put the thought to the back of her mind, to focus on his body touching hers in exactly the way that got them into this mess in the first place - but then he mutters the words that make her heart skip:   _I don't want to keep any secrets from you._

And then, with skin touching skin, she can't bring herself to keep any from him either.

She really doesn't know what to expect when she blurts it out, but his reaction is of pure elation - it's almost overwhelming to see how proud and pleased he is, particularly given that such a development was unplanned.  She braces herself, expecting that he'll ask her about the potion, or her Muggle contraception, confused about why they'd both failed when they'd been so careful - but he doesn't.  It's as if he doesn't care.  Instead, for the first time that she could recall, he appears to have little interest in the practicalities; he is _happy_.

* * *

His enthusiasm would've been been intoxicating, but her own excitement is tempered when she gets up the next morning and walks in on him locking away the vials of Polyjuice, and telling her that he will be taking her place with Slughorn whilst she must remain indoors.

"Why?"

"Because we don't know what Polyjuice might do to the kid-"

"I've been taking it up until now!  I took it all last week, and the week before, and-"

"-and you were drinking alcohol last night as well, but you're not going to now, are you?"

There's a long and bitter silence, and then he kisses her.

She tries again, striving to be calmer in her tone, desperate to convince him.  "Sev, one more day won't hurt."

"It's not just the Polyjuice.  What about when you're brewing?  The heavy cauldrons?  The hot flames?  What if something explodes or-"

"-it won't!  I'm not like you, I don't go around routinely exploding cauldrons just because I want to see what happens if I put two incompatible ingredients together!"

"No, love," he says, firmly.  "Look, I've got to go, else Sluggy will shout about me - you - being late."

She scowls at him as he departs, and then sinks heavily onto the sofa, her thoughts swirling around her mind.  She wants to be excited - she wants to share the glee and joy that Severus does - but the practicalities are looming large in her mind.  The Muggle and magical worlds are not quite aligned; in some ways, the magical world is more progressive - the balance of workers in the Ministry was an almost even split between men and women, and such things could not be said for the Muggle world - but at other times, its conservatism shines through.  Pregnancy out of wedlock would scarcely be accepted back in Cokeworth, and although she can't say for sure that it would be frowned upon in the wizarding world, she cannot recall a student from school who came from an unmarried household. There were a few kids where one of their parents had died, but she couldn't think of any parents who, for want of a better phrase, lived in sin.  

She wonders if there's a way to conceal the pregnancy, to stop anyone from finding out - but then quickly realises that it would bring its own problems - if nobody knew she was pregnant, then what would they say when they found her and Severus strolling around with a babe-in-arms?  The purists were already obsessed with talking about Muggleborns obtaining magic illegally - if she were to be accused of stealing a magical baby, she'd definitely be hauled up in front of the Ministry, or thrown in Azkaban, or likely - knowing the way that the world was turning - she and the child, and perhaps even Severus as well, would suffer at the hands of a band of vigilantes.  What was she meant to do?  Stay hidden and below stairs, like some domestic servant defiled by her master, with their child destined to be farmed out to an elderly couple who couldn't conceive?

The thought vexes her, and she grabs a cushion, pulling it against her and squeezing her frustration onto it.  As if those thoughts weren't bad enough, from his behaviour this morning, it seemed as if continuing her apprenticeship would be a non-starter as far as Severus was concerned.  She was going to be bored stiff - locked up for months and months on end, with her body changing and nobody to talk to.  And if keeping her pregnancy hidden was a priority, then Severus wouldn't be able to Polyjuice into her - which would mean that her alibi and agreement with Vance was off, and she would be back to being a wanted woman.

It was almost overwhelming.  What she would give for the wise words of her mother or her father in this moment.  For the very first time since she'd arrived at Hogwarts and stepped foot in these specially designed chambers - a place where she'd finally felt safe, loved and at home - Lily can't help but feel completely and utterly trapped.  


	48. Room at the inn

He pushes the door open, and when he finds their quarters in complete darkness, his chest clenches.  He would've been a liar if he had claimed that he was completely blindsided by the development, but he had hoped that his fear that she'd be scared, or overwhelmed at their news had been unfounded.  

Last night, when she'd told him about their baby, he hadn't brushed her mind with Legilimency.  He hadn't intruded, so he'd had no way of knowing exactly what she was thinking when she hugged him tightly, with him whispering words of love and joy in her ear in the darkness.  He wasn't sure how she'd wanted him to respond, so he'd opted for enthusiasm - and he _was_ enthusiastic - hoping his support would be enough to allay any fears that she held but hadn't yet shared.  

When she'd been so angry in the morning, it had left him carrying a nagging doubt in the back of his head all day long.  It had been there whilst he brewed potion after potion, but he hadn't downed tools and run back to their quarters because if Severus knew anything about his girlfriend, it was that she was prone to flying off the handle.  Given a few hours of solitude, she might've calmed down, or resolved the problem, or at the very least, she'd have had enough time to create a knitted effigy of her reckless boyfriend so she could start punishing it.  He'd had a bout of pins and needles in his left thigh at about half past three, and he had idly wondered if that was the option she'd gone for - but glancing around the room now, he couldn't see any trace of such a doll.  

_That prickling feeling wasn't voodoo, Sev.  That's guilt._

Now that he's had more than five minutes to think about it, he realises what a schoolboy error he's made.  He should've gone to Slughorn and told him that she was sick, and he should've holed up in their rooms with her, wrapping themselves in their blankets and spending the day discussing their future.  Instead, he'd been an idiot, far too focused on covering their tracks and keeping up the ruse.

All in all, it had been an odd day - he hadn't just been Severus Snape in Slughorn's rooms, but Severus-pretending-to-be-Lily-pretending-to-be-Severus, and he wasn't entirely sure that he'd done a fantastic job at it.  For one thing, Slughorn had seemed unconvinced by his behaviour; he'd caught the older man looking at him curiously from the corner of his eye - but then, that might've been because Severus couldn't keep that daft smile off his face.  Severus Snape did not smile.  He certainly didn't grin inanely. And Severus wouldn't normally have plastered such an expression across his features, nor - he was sure - would Lily when she was pretending to be him.  On top of that, he had a burning desire to share his news. He wanted to tell someone - anyone! - that he was going to be a father, but Hogwarts was hardly comprised of people who he could trust, so he'd wrapped up his elation and kept it hidden deep within.  That silly smile being the exception, of course.

So he'd quietly looked forward to tonight as he'd prised snails from their shells, and sliced flobberworms, and strained doxy blood.  He had daydreamed about walking in, pulling Lily into his arms and murmuring about their future - but the further he goes into their rooms, the more that reality hits home and his happiness drains from him.  At first, he fervently hopes that she is simply curled up in their bed, exhausted with the weight of emotion, or suffering from a sudden onslaught of pregnancy nausea - but as he casts at the wall lamps and finds each and every room empty, he realises it's beyond foolish to hope to find her coiled form in their bed.

"Lil?  You in here, love?"

He's foolish.  What can he say?

When the bedroom door swings open, he is greeted with naught but darkness and silence.  His hope has disappeared entirely, and the realisation that she's walked away catches him like a bludger to the throat.  He pauses before casting at the bedroom wall lamp, and when he does, his spell is weak. The lamp emits a dim glow, as if he's done it deliberately - and he has done so many times before, whenever he was planning to be seductive.   _Seduction_.  That's what's got them into this state, and the very thought makes his stomach roll.  He drops to his knees, his palms covering his face, and his elbows digging in to the mattress.  His breathing is awkward and loud, stuttering and uneven, and when he finally composes himself, and pulls his hands away, he presses his palms together and touches his forefingers to his brow.

Severus had spent his childhood being troubled by his father's Muggle values.  Tobias' obsession for correct posture during prayer was no exception, but with Lily gone, it somehow seems like the only appropriate response.  He's obviously read the situation incorrectly, and if he's messed it up so badly that she felt it necessary to walk out of the door to get away from him, he feels that he needs nothing short of a miracle to get her back.

* * *

The sky is grey in Cokeworth, and by the time he's walked over to her parents' house, the rain has left his face damp and his hair clinging to his cheeks.  At first, it had been the sort of rain that you don't prepare for - _it's just a spot of drizzle_ \- the sort of rain that doesn't require an umbrella, and you don't think to raise your hood until it's too late and you're already soaked.  Not that he has a hood on this cheap jacket; an Ethel Austin's reject rack special, which has always had a hole under the arm where the left sleeve meets the body - a fair return for a few pence off.  Or so his mother would've thought when she bought it for a Christmas present a few years back.  He shrugs uncomfortably as he walks up the path, the nylon sticking to his arms.

He wouldn't have been completely soaked if he hadn't wandered over to the park first.  He didn't really expect her to be there, but he found it grounded him in some way, going back to where they'd first met.  He'd sat on the wooden swing - _her_ wooden swing - the wet wood damp against the seat of his jeans, and he'd pushed his feet against the ground.  His effort was lacklustre and the resulting swing was shallow, the toes of his boots dragging across the dirt below - nothing like the way the pair of them used to sail to the highest peak, flinging themselves through the air without care for any of the bones in their body.  

It was as he sat on the play equipment that the rain grew harder, more relentless, almost painful as it pummelled his skin.  The pack of cigarettes in his top pocket pressed against his chest, begging him to open them - although he'd be hard pressed to convince one to catch light in this weather - but he stood, resolute; he couldn't avoid it any longer - and turning up at her parents' house as the father-to-be was one thing, turning up as a father-to-be who was soaked the skin and stinking of habit that he'd sworn he'd forsaken was another.

* * *

The lights were on downstairs, and he rapped sharply on the door before immediately thrusting his hands back into his pockets, his fingers twisting anxiously against the thin lining as he waited.  David pulled the door open - and he suddenly seemed rather terrifying; greying and serious, older and taller - although that was because he was stood on the step, whilst Severus stood on the ground - and far more sure of himself.  Severus took in a halting breath, his words sticking on his tongue now that he was confronted with the reality of Lily's father.

_You've knocked up his daughter._

He wanted to say that he was going to look after her - that he realised he'd messed up, and he wasn't going to make another mistake because he was going to put all of this right - but he suddenly he felt infinitesimally small, and incredibly weak, and he was too aware of his hair plastered against his face, and his horrible jacket clinging to his skin.  Who was he kidding?  He wasn't going to make a father.   _David_ was a father.  David, with his good job, and his sensible shoes, and his terrible jokes.  David was a father.  A great father.  Severus isn't a father; Severus is just a stupid kid playing make-believe.

"I'm..."  And he falters, and then stops completely.  He wants to apologise - wants to say that he's sorry and that he didn't mean to hurt her.  He wants to say that he's going to come inside and put his arms around her, and he's going to tell her that he loves her, and then she's going to want to come home with him, and he's going to put it right, but as he's standing outside, the rain seeping through his jacket, and the relative success of her parents staring him in the face - with their nice house, and their neat garden, and their brand new car - he realises that she might not want that.  She might not want him.  She's not answered the door to him, and she's probably sitting inside the warm, dry house with her mother, the two of them hoping that he'll go away, sending her father out as her protector.  He feels sick as he realises that she's probably come to her senses after all of these years - this news being a sharp shock - a painful slap that's pulled her out of her silly world, where she's been playing along with his daft dreams and desires - and now that it's all become too real, she's going to withdraw, and start a new game with someone else.  Someone better.  Someone worthier.

 _You should just leave_ , he thinks.   _Don't embarrass her by making her say the words.  Don't beg.  Just walk away with as much dignity intact as you can muster_.  

It's hard to muster dignity when you can barely see through the rain, and your socks are wet through, and there's water running down the back of your neck and sliding beneath your t-shirt, but just as he straightens his back and makes to turn away, David surprises him.  

"Severus."  The older man steps out of the house in just his socked feet, and onto the puddle covered path, walking towards him until they're uncomfortably close.

_Oh.  He's going to beat shit out of me._

"Come here, son," David says, roughly pulling him into an embrace, the likes of which they'd never previously shared.

* * *

David doesn't take him through to the living room.  He waits with last week's newspaper whilst Severus unknots his boots in the hallway, but his wet fingers conspire against him, and it seems to take forever for the laces to slide free.  When he finally kicks the scuffed boots off, David passes him several scrunched up pages.

"Put these in the them to dry them off," he says, and then he leads him upstairs.

"Is she up here?"

"No," David says, leaning into the airing cupboard and passing out a large fluffy towel.  "She's with her mother in the kitchen."

Severus swallows, not sure where this is going.  "Can I speak with her?"

David gives him a small smile.  "You're soaking wet.  You need a warm shower, some dry clothes, and a cup of sweet tea."

"I don't take sugar."

"You do tonight," David says, firmly.  "Get in the bathroom, pass me your clothes from behind the door so we can dry them, and get in the shower."

He does.  He'd be reluctant, but David's tone brooked no argument, and seeing as ten minutes ago, he thought he'd be tramping his way back to Hogwarts alone, he's not keen to rock the boat.  He steps into the bathroom, peels his wet clothes off his skinny body and shoves them through the door.

"What should I do when I'm out of the shower?"

"I'll be out here."

It's not reassuring.  Not for Severus, who isn't used to this level of attention.  Whenever his father behaved like this - well, never _quite_ like this - it wouldn't end well.  It wasn't in Tobias' nature to be nurturing, and Severus didn't know how to react to the sudden shift in his behaviour.  He'd try to be good and appreciative, but he'd always make a mistake - he'd say the wrong thing, or he'd spill something - and Tobias would snap.  On those nights, something would usually break - a cup or a plate or an ornament - and when his mother saw whatever was smashed, she'd always sigh loudly and start to clear up, her expression tinged with a strained look of sadness.

_"Why can't you just behave for your father?  Why do you always have to play him up?"_

_"I wasn't!  I dint mean to play 'im up!"_

_"Yer bloody was!  And now you're talkin' back to yer mam, yer little shite."_

Severus shakes his head.  There's no need for this.  David isn't Tobias.

He pulls the shower curtain across the avocado coloured bath and twists the chrome controls on the wall.  The shower head bursts into life, and he tangles awkwardly with the hose as he tries to position it correctly.  He hadn't exactly planned to leap into the shower upon arrival - he wanted to speak to Lily - but now that the water is warming his rain-chilled body, he is grateful for David's intervention.  He soaps himself quickly, and pours a liberal amount of shampoo from the bottle of Vosene on the side of the bath onto his hair, scrubbing his scalp harder than necessary and then dunking his head under the spray, washing the shampoo out - and then a stream of it bleeds into one of his eyes.  Severus hisses and recoils, splashing clear water against his face, but he's already crying, and now that he's started, it's as if the floodgates have opened.  He finds he can't do anything but put one hand against the wet tile and wait for his own strangled sobbing to stop.

* * *

It's odd, sitting in the front room and wearing David's formal clothes.  He sips his overly sweet tea - now he _does_ look like a father, with the borrowed pressed khakis and stripey shirt, and the blue woollen jumper which is making the back of his neck itch.

"A little warmer now?"

He nods stiffly.  "Thank you."

"Your jeans and t-shirt are in the dryer," David says.  "Not sure how long it'll take. More Rose's thing than mine, but I'll ask her to keep an eye on it.  Jacket's in the airing cupboard."

"Oh!"  Severus stands, abruptly, but before he can explain, David puts a hand on his shoulder and pushes him back down.  "No, David-"

"It's here," David says, pressing it into his hand, and clapping him on the back.  "Now, finish your tea, and then you can go up to Lily. She went to bed whilst you were drying off."

* * *

It's the second door he's knocked on tonight, but he looks a little more presentable - if not like his usual self - when Rose opens Lily's bedroom door.

"Hello, Severus," she says, hugging him before he can even say hello.  He flushes when he sees Lily's amused look from her position on the bed, and he knows that beneath his hair, even the tips of his ears have turned pink.

"Rose."

"Stay tonight, Severus," she says, moving past him.  "Plenty of room at the inn." Rose shuts the door quietly behind her, leaving Severus standing on the opposite side of the room to Lily, who is nestled in her duvet.

 _It must be ok_ , the voice in his head screams.   _David wants you to stay.  Rose wants you to stay.  Lily..._

"Hello you," she says.

"Hello yourself."

"Nice threads.  The middle aged look suits you."

He glances down and gives a soft laugh.  "Got a bit soaked coming here. An unexpected trip, really."

"Sorry about that."

He moves swiftly, sitting at the foot of the bed and reaching for her hand.  "Bit overwhelmed?"

She nods, and she swallows, and then tears form at the edge of her eyes.  "...I'm sorry."

"Hey," he says, quickly, shuffling up the bed and pulling her into his arms.  "Shhhh. It's ok.  It's ok, love."

They sit there for a long while, holding each other closely.  He smells unusual, having used her mother's shampoo and wearing her father's clothes, but his body is warm, and his grip is firm and she finds herself relaxing into his familiar hold.

"I'm glad you came," she says, finally.

"Yeah?"  He looks relieved, and gently moves some of her hair behind her ear so he can see her face clearly.  "...what happened?  I thought we'd got better at this talking thing?"

"We have."

"Then why are you here and not at home?"

"I wanted Mummy and Daddy.  I was scared," she says, quietly.

"Scared?  Scared of what?  I'll look after you."

"You can't, Sev!  It's not that easy."  She looks down. "Besides, it's not just the baby.  ...it's you."

He stiffens, as if he's been insulted.  "You're scared of me?"

"No!"  She shakes her head, exhaling loudly.  "No, not _you_ , but..."

"But what?"

"The way you reacted," she says, her fingers toying with the duvet.  "You were so excited, and you didn't stop to think any of it through.  They want to banish my kind from the wizarding world, Sev, and you want to bring a baby into that!"

He runs his free hand over his face, and when he lifts it again, he looks as if he's aged five years in as many minutes.  "...I was trying to be supportive."  He stares at her, imploringly, and then he pulls out the box that David had retrieved for him out of his sodden jacket.

"What's that?"

"What do you think it is?"  And then he slides off the bed, and Lily shakes her head, closing her hands over his, stopping him from opening it.  

"No, Sev."

His voice is suddenly colder, tighter.  "No?"

"You don't have to do that."

"It's not because I have to, it's because I want to."

She shakes her head, and pulls at his hands, pulling him back towards the bed.  

He capitulates, but he roughly shoves the ring back in his pocket, his ego clearly bruised.  "You want to get rid of it, don't you?"

"Sev…"

"It's ok," he says, in a tone of voice that suggests that it isn't.  "I don't want you trapped in a relationship you don't want to be in."

"Oh, Sev," she says, and this time she throws her arms around him, squeezing him so tightly, it's almost painful.  "This isn't about us. Or you."

"I was trying to do the right thing.  I didn't want you to think I blamed you for what happened."

Her voice is small.  "...but it _was_ me.  I didn't take anything when I was staying with the Weasley family.  I didn't have it with me - the tablets or your potion, and I just didn't think."

He closes his eyes, the realisation dawning.  "It wasn't all you. I barely let you get your foot in the door that night," he says.

She takes his hand, leaning her head against his shoulder.  "I wanted you as much as you wanted me."

"But you don't want our baby?"

There's another long silence, and eventually, she takes a deep breath.  "What sort of life would our child have?"

"We'd be good parents."

She smiles at that, her fingers stroking down his cheek.  "We would.  But I don't think our world is going to let us try.  Think of baby Malfoy and the sort of life he or she is going to have, and then think of our baby."

"Things might change."

"Things might get worse."

He puts his head in his hands.  "I thought I was coming here tonight and I was going to walk away with a wife and a kid, and…"

"I didn't say I didn't want to be your wife."

"Lil, you sort of did."

"No, I said I didn't want you to propose now.  I don't want you proposing like this, because you feel you have to."

"I don't feel I have to!"

"No?"  Her voice is getting louder, and more shrill.  "Then why didn't you ask me last week?  Or the week before?  Or the week before that?"

"...I've had the ring for a while."

"But not like this," she says, trying again, her voice softer.  "You had it planned out, didn't you?" 

He doesn't speak, and she squeezes his fingers.  

"Sev?"

"...yes."

"Then I can wait.  Until that moment that you'd dreamed of."

"The moment doesn't matter."

She kisses him - her lips are soft and gentle - and before he can respond, she pulls away.  "It does.  When we're old, and we're telling our grandchildren about how we got engaged, I want you to be able to tell them.  I want you to tell them about our perfect day, and our perfect date, and our perfect meal in the perfect restaurant where a talented violinist plays Boccherini whilst we eat, and there's a beautiful red rose in the vase on the table-"

"Lily-"

"-no, I'm on a roll-"

"I can see that," he interrupts again, drolly, "but it's a lily.  Not a rose.  In the vase, on the table."

And then she kisses him again, harder this time, and his hands come up to touch her cheeks as she deepens the kiss.  "I want that," she says, a little breathlessly.  "I want that memory.  I want that moment that you've dreamed of."

"And you still want me?"

"I still want you."

His lips meet hers, and she drags off the jumper, and unbuttons the shirt, and when he's dressed only in his own underpants, she lifts the duvet and invites him into her bed.  He presses kisses down the back of her neck, his arms wrapping around her as they shift to make a single bed comfortable enough for two - _three_ \- and she places her hands on top of his own.  As he shifts, trying to get in the right position to sleep, his hand skitters over her stomach, and a swirl of magic pulses around the pair of them.

"...did you feel that?" she whispers.

He swallows hard.  "Yes."

They lie like that, their hands wrapped in their child's magic, until she lets out a soft sob.  "I don't think I can do it, Sev."

"It's ok," he says, his voice steady, but his heart quietly flipping over at the thought of not ever meeting his child.

"No, I mean, it sounds logical when I talk it through," she says, "but when I can feel our baby…"

"What did your mum say?" he says, softly, desperately hoping that Rose said something useful.

"She said she'd help in any way she could."

He strokes his fingers across her body, the baby's magic entwining with his digits.  "And do you think that could be enough for us to find a way through this?"

"If I have the baby, you will stand by me, won't you, Sev?  You weren't just saying it?"

"Forever, love.  I'll stand by you forever."


	49. Specific task

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a very brief mention of historical miscarriage in this chapter.

The four of them eat breakfast in near silence, and despite her parents' warm words last night, she feels uneasy, fairly certain that in the cold light of the next day, both her mother and father are now less than pleased at the situation.  She saw her father's pointed look at her bare ring finger as she sat down, and her mother's pointed look at Severus, but neither of them have actually asked.

When Lily was curled up against Severus last night, he whispered in her ear that David had spotted the ring box in his sodden jacket, and she's positive that when the two of them descended the stairs that morning, her parents were poised to congratulate them on their upcoming betrothal, assuming it would've gone ahead, and assuming that she'd have said yes - but the fact remains that neither of them have asked, and as far as Lily's concerned, if they can't bring themselves to ask her, she's not going to explain.  

Besides, she doesn't need to marry Severus to prove a point or to get him to stay.   _He's here, isn't he?_   She smiles to herself as she looks at him.  He seems entirely oblivious to the mood of the room, sitting happily between her parents, shovelling cornflakes and milk into his mouth, and gulping his tea - in short, behaving as he always does at mealtimes, as if someone's going to whisk his food away at any moment and it's a race to consume as much as humanly possible in a short timeframe.  She remembers him being sick more than a few times in their early days at Hogwarts, his small body unable to cope with him gorging on the copious amounts of food before him, and his brain seeming unable to switch off the feast-or-famine concept that had clearly been drilled into him at a young age.   _Got to make hay whilst the sun shines, Lil_ , he'd say, stuffing cakes and bread rolls into the pockets of his robes.

Before anyone else has come close to finishing their cereal, he's loudly scraping the bowl clean, and then he leans over and grabs greedily from the toast rack.  She notes the look that passes between her mother and her father, all three of them watching as Severus carefully smears a thick layer of blackcurrant jam on one of the pieces of toast, and then pauses, placing the spoon on the table and leaving a dark smudge where the juice of the jam meets the pristine white cloth.   _Thank Merlin Petunia isn't here to see this._ Severus then picks up the jar of lemon curd in one hand and the jar of strawberry jam in the other, and he twists the jam in his hand, scrutinising the contents, before eventually discarding the lemon curd untouched and committing the red preserve onto the next slice.  Her parents glance at each other again, and she isn't sure quite what _that_ look means - likely amusement or displeasure at his lack of table manners - but before she can comment in his defence, he swiftly cuts the two slices of toast in half, and places a piece of each variety on a plate, and passes it over to her.

"Thanks."

"S'alright, love," he says, practically inhaling his own toast, and then rubbing his sticky fingers on his jeans.  "No bits in the strawberry. I checked."

She smiles.  "No, Mummy and Daddy know I don't like seeds."

"Yeah, course," he says, looking a little abashed, as if it was stupid of him to forget that her parents know her as well as he does - or even better.  He drains his tea, and claps his hands against his thighs, non-verbally announcing his intention to depart, and then stands, pushing his chair back under the table, and moving towards her so he can kiss her forehead.  "Best get back to Sluggy.  Make sure you eat something."  And then he straightens, suddenly more formal, as if he's remembered his surroundings. "...thank you, both.  For last night. ...and this."

"It's only breakfast," Rose says, kindly, as Severus heads towards the door, but Lily knows what he means - she isn't convinced that this would be the reception they'd have received on the other side of the river if he'd run to his parents instead of she to hers.  

David stands, quickly joining Severus.  "I'll see you out."

"And come back tonight.  I'll make dinner," Rose calls - and although Severus is almost through the door, David in tow, he pauses.

Lily glances down at her uneaten food, wishing her mother hadn't said anything - she doesn't want this argument, not this early in the morning.  Her mother's being generous and welcoming, reminding Severus that he's part of the family, but Lily knows that it's the wrong thing to say.   _He's not intending to come back tonight, because he doesn't want me here at all._ She wonders for a moment if he'll say anything; years ago, he'd have just nodded his head and held in his feelings, going along with whatever everyone else wanted, but he's a little tougher now.  After these last few months, they both are.

"...I thought Lil would come home with me."

"Right now?  She's not finished eating."

"This evening, probably."  He looks defensive.  "When I've worked out a way."

"She needs rest, and that castle-"

"-the castle is the safest place for her.  For us both."

David places a hand on Severus' shoulder.  "Come back tonight, and we can talk more about it."

"Lil?"

She glances from her mother to father to boyfriend, all looking at her expectantly.  Her mother's hand reaches out and strokes the back of hers in a soothing manner, and the longer she's silent, the stonier Severus' expression becomes.

"I can't, Sev."

It's like she's hit him.  He almost recoils, his left eyebrow momentarily arching before it falls back into place.  "Right.  As you were then."

"No, Sev," she says, quickly, getting up and moving to put her arms around him.  He's tense when she hugs him around his waist, and although he puts his hands on her hips, she can feel his reluctance.  It's not an embrace.  "I _want_ to come back with you-"

He looks surprised, and she knows that behind her back, it's her parents who now look stunned.   _Don't look_ , she thinks.   _It's harder if you know for certain_.

"Lily, you said that the magical world was unsafe," her mother ventures from her seat at the table.

"Severus will look after me," she says, with a certainty she isn't sure she feels on the inside.  "And our baby."

He smiles, his hands now holding her more tightly.  "Yes, love."

"But I can't get back into the castle without Polyjuice."  She gives him a pointed look, and the smile drops from his face.

"No."

"Just once!"

"I said, no!"

"I've been doing it up until now!  Before we knew!  Once more isn't going to hurt!"

Their embrace has quickly morphed into a standoff, with both of them stood back a little from the other.  He breaks eye contact first, shaking his head. "Moody."

David steps forwards, putting his hand protectively on Lily's arm.  "I'm sure there are lots of emotions running high at the moment, Severus, but there's no need to diminish the way Lily's feeling because you don't agree with her decision."

To his surprise, Lily lets out a snort of laughter.  "Daddy, no.  Moody is a ...policeman.  A magical one.  He's on our side."

" _Your_ side," Severus corrects.

" _Our_ side.  And you're right, he can get me back in to Hogwarts."  Lily nods tightly. "But to get to Moody, I need to get into an Order meeting first."

"You can't face Vance again."

"I can, but only if I have something."

"...you need some dirt on Malf."

She looks guiltily at him.  "...are you going to-"

"I don't know," he interrupts, roughly, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Because you don't want to be a-"

"-because we don't know whether it'll have any effects the other way around!"  He looks irritated - more irritated than she expects, even though she knows this is a touchy subject with him.  "What if I'm…"   _He can't even bring himself to say the words._ "...and what if I get hurt, and it somehow carries back to you?"

"Polyjuice doesn't work like that."

"Expert on it now, are you?" he snaps, running a hand through his hair.  

"No, but Sluggy probably is.  Ask him."

He doesn't answer, but kisses her on her lips - more chastely than usual, but then, her parents are watching them both keenly.  "I'm late."  And then he's gone, through the door and up the path.

"...I didn't understand at least 80% of that."

Lily ignores her father's comment and runs up the stairs, and back into her bedroom.  She lifts the net curtain and presses herself against the window, watching as Severus walks down the street and eventually, turns into a speck on the horizon.  She can hear plates and cutlery clinking together as her parents tidy the breakfast things away, and her heart twinges a little when she thinks that she didn't eat the toast her boyfriend had so thoughtfully prepared for her.  She looks behind her at the dishevelled bedclothes, where he'd held her throughout the night, and although he had been in her arms a few moments earlier, when she looks around the empty Muggle room, it feels as if a wizard had never been there at all.

* * *

Severus places the vial of Polyjuice on the bench, and carries on brewing.  He keeps trying to remember where he faltered when he was genuinely brewing for the first time; he doesn't want Slughorn thinking that Lily is some sort of prodigy - regular genius will suffice - and if he brews with the experience he has behind him already, Slughorn will draw the wrong conclusion.  

Luckily, when Slughorn enters the room, he is rather more distracted by the vial sat openly on the table.  "Ah, now, Severus," he says, pointedly, whipping it into his grasp, "a little more care with your belongings, please."

"It's there for a reason.  I wanted to ask you about it."

"Oh?  Well, fire away!"

Severus casts at his cauldron, pausing the brew he's working on, and wipes his hands with a cloth.  He doesn't know how to approach this.  He doesn't know Slughorn that well, not really, not considering that he was his housemaster for seven years.  They got on well enough, and Slughorn was always fairly amiable towards him - not like McGonagall, who had mastered the skill of looking down her nose whenever he raised his hand in her classroom - but he didn't have the sort of relationship with him that Lily had.  Lily could've asked him.  Lily would've thought of the right way to raise the topic so that Slughorn didn't blink, or miss a beat.

But of course, stood here, he _was_ Lily.  Or Lily-as-Severus.  In Slughorn's eyes, anyway.  He just needed to think of the right way to approach it - he could hardly blurt out that she, or he, or she-as-he, or...  Well.  He can't tell Slughorn that Lily is pregnant.  He can't let anyone know.  So he needs a different way to approach it.  A logical way.   _Come on, think.  What would Slughorn think was feasible?  Get him talking about Polyjuice before he smells a rat!_

"It's such a chore drinking it all day long.  It's an awful mixture."

"I sympathise greatly, but I am afraid not much can be done about the taste."  Slughorn settles himself against the bench.  "Many have tried to modify the potion, but all with limited success.  My dear, I would suggest that if you were looking for a topic to study, there are other areas with greater untapped potential."

"You do not think it is worthy of any experimentation?  If not the taste, then longevity, so I would only need to drink it once?"

Slughorn sighs.  "If it's a topic you're truly interested in-"

"-it is, Professor," he says, trying forlornly to remember what Lily-as-Severus would call Slughorn.  His days with Borage and Jigger mean that 'sir' isn't far from his lips, but he's certain that would immediately expose him as an imposter.   _Ask her tonight, you idiot_.  "Severus will be bald at this rate, Professor."

Slughorn suppresses a smile.  "I think he has plenty to tide him over.  ...Lily, you should bear in mind that such a potion would have limited appeal.  Few wish to transform for extended periods of time.  There are laws," he says, absently scratching his ear.

"Yes, the Ministry Act of Imitation 1359."

"Very good!"  Slughorn looks impressed.  "It prevents most from wishing to transform for more than an hour - the risk of prosecution outweighs the benefits, not least because it's trivial to hold a witch or wizard in custody-"

"-the Ministry Act of Deceitful Conduct 1386."

"Two in a row.  I see Professor Binns managed to impart a little of his knowledge."

"So you do not think it's possible?"

"I believe it's possible."  He smiles tightly.  "I simply do not see the use-case scenario."

"I almost cannot say it, Professor."  Severus tries to blush, but although his cheeks redden at the most inopportune times, his body fails to respond at will.

Slughorn looks amused.  "I shall not betray a confidence."

"...Severus has a friend.  I have a friend." Severus glances away, hoping to pique Slughorn's curiosity.  

"Go on."

"They like to _play_ , Professor, if you understand my meaning."

"Ah."

"So it would be useful for the Polyjuice to last a little longer.  In those circumstances.  Privately."

Slughorn looks a little embarrassed.  "I suppose it would, although I imagine the penalty in the Ministry for holding such a potion would be no less.  As it stands, with the potion as it is, they could likely argue personal use - but a potion which lasts for an increased duration?  It's a dangerous area.  Really, who needs to be transformed for more than an hour?"

Severus has to stifle a laugh.   _Old Sluggy's a ten minute man, is he?_ He quickly changes the subject.  "I also wanted to know, Professor - can it affect the source?"

"The source?"

"If I were to burn myself," he says, quickly, "would Severus be hurt?"

Slughorn looks amused.  "Now, this is why it has been such a joy to teach you both - you are so very different in nature."

"I'm afraid I don't understand, Professor."

"Your boyfriend," Slughorn whispers, leaning in conspiratorially, "would simply have burnt himself.  As a test."

It makes his stomach twist to think how well Slughorn knows him.  It's the obvious solution, but he doesn't dare test the theory, lest Lily or the baby be harmed in any form.  "I don't think Severus would hurt me deliberately."

"Not _deliberately_.  But perhaps in the name of investigation.  A little nick of the knife here, or a scald there."  He clamps a hot hand over Severus' own.  "Lily, my dear, there is no need to be concerned.  If you become as reckless a brewer as your worse half, then you won't hurt him," and he gives a bellow of laughter, "so I hereby give you permission to channel his curiosity and blow up that cauldron!"

"...could a child be hurt, Professor?"

This makes the smile abruptly drop from Slughorn's face.  "My dear, a student-"

"-not a student.  An unborn child."  The words fall from his lips before he can stop them; he wouldn't forgive himself if he didn't explicitly check.

Slughorn appraises him, and the silence is almost oppressive.  "...your friends, I assume?" Slughorn eventually asks, quietly.  "They are with child?"

"I believe so, Professor."

"Am I correct in thinking that this is a new addition to the Malfoy family tree?"

He stills, but he's certain his frozen demeanour has given Slughorn all of the information he needs.  "I cannot say, Professor. I must not break a confidence."

Slughorn smiles broadly.  "Indeed, but you do not have to.  As much as I like your boyfriend, I am almost certain that he only has one friend who would confide such things to him.  ...he hardly invites the sharing of secrets, does he?"  His eyes narrow.  "But Severus is a brewer, so Lucius would have good reason to confide in him."  He grins, triumphantly, as the pieces fall into place.  "The rather narcissistic Lucius is concerned that his deviant behaviour will have an impact upon his unborn child?  And he would well be worried, with the history of the Malfoy lineage - of the children that were lost in the womb."  Slughorn leans a little closer, his breath warm on Severus' skin.  "Tell Lucius, or Narcissa - if what you're saying is truthful and you now count her as your friend, Lily - that there is nothing to be concerned about.  Lucius may partake in such potions, but Narcissa must not."  And then Slughorn grins broadly.  "Although, from what you've said, I imagine that might just put a little dampener on his escapades.  I somehow can't imagine Lucius as..."  He trails off, and gives a little shake of his head.  "On the other hand, I would rather not imagine any of this at all."

"And brewing, Professor?"

Slughorn looks thrown, and Severus has to swallow his amusement.   _How is he more surprised at the idea of them brewing, instead of indulging in sordid sexual games?_

"Did you say _brewing_?"

"Is it safe to do so?  When pregnant?"

"I wasn't aware that Narcissa had such an interest."

 _Shit_.  "I merely mean that if Lucius brews around her, if she walks in on him brewing then-"

"Lucius is going to brew this modified potion, is he?  Not yourself or Severus?" Slughorn's expression is a mixture of surprise and amusement.  "Well, young Lucius was a promising brewer in his day.  I was rather disappointed that he dropped the subject instead of carrying on through his NEWT."

 _It isn't surprising.  Abraxas forced him to quit, fearful that his son would discover that he was being dosed with Imperatum._ But Severus keeps the thought to himself, and nods.  "I think he might wish to try.  So that the potion doesn't need to be transported between locations."

"Thus reducing the opportunity to be caught in the act?"  Slughorn nods, looking slightly impressed.  "Clever.  He does rather think of everything, doesn't he, Lucius?"

"It is a trait I am quickly becoming accustomed to."

"Yes, well, don't fall for one of his others - the ability to get something for nothing," he says.  "Lucius will attempt to sweet talk you into almost anything, but don't you go giving away any discoveries you may make.  He has a purse full of galleons, a vault full of gold, and a mansion full of treasures - make sure he rewards you handsomely for your creations."  He moves towards the exit then, the conversation clearly over, but as he nears the door, he turns.  "Oh, and Lily?"

"Professor?"

"I always told you all when you were at school to patent any such inventions.  If you do manage to extend the effects of the potion…"  He raps his knuckles on the door.  "Well.  I'd recommend that you leave this one off your curriculum vitae."

* * *

Severus swings the door to their quarters open, and he immediately grabs his wand from his sleeve when he spies a figure in the shadows by the bookcase.  " _Lumos!_ "

"My deepest apologies, Severus," comes the gentle voice of Albus Dumbledore, who - now that the room is lit, Severus can see - is trailing a long, thin finger across the spines of Severus and Lily's books.  "I did not mean to startle you."

Severus moves out of his defensive stance and shrugs uncomfortably, wanting to snap about switching a light on instead of standing around in the darkness - _how was he even reading the titles of the books without any light?_ \- but as he's very aware that he's living in the castle as a favour, he doesn't want to start an argument with the Headmaster.

"You are right, of course," Dumbledore says, smiling, "I should've put on a light.  I had quite forgotten how dark it gets down in these dungeons, even when the sun is still shining brightly over the grounds above.  When one lives in a tower, it is easy to forget such things."

"I didn't say anything about putting a light on."

"You didn't need to."  Dumbledore sweeps his robes and moves out of the study and into the cosy living area, where he sits, uninvited, on the sofa.  "I thought you'd been practising?"

Severus follows, casting at the wall lamps to cause them to ignite.  "I haven't had time."

Dumbledore looks at his fingers, and then up at Severus.  "Please, be seated, Severus."

He acquiesces with irritation.   _Be seated.  Be seated!  It's my bloody room.  Well... it's his bloody castle_ , _I suppose -_ and then he catches sight of the clock in the corner.   _Don't drag this out.  Lily's expecting you_.  He glances quickly down, not wanting Dumbledore to read his mind again.  "Was there something I could help you with, Headmaster?"

"I am pleased to hear that following our discussion you have been reconnecting with old acquaintances," Dumbledore says, airily.

His eye twitches as he realises.   _Mundungus saw me with Avery.   Bloody Fletcher._   "As you suggested I should do, sir."

"Tell me, how is Avery?"

"Good, sir."

"Good?"

Severus nods.  "Seems happy enough."

"Seems...happy...enough."  Dumbledore drags the sentence out, as if he's mulling it over.  "Any reason for such happiness, Severus?"

 _Well, whenever I'm with him, he's getting his end away down Knockturn so…_ "No, I don't think so, sir."

"Well, I'm very pleased to hear that he's doing so well."  Dumbledore flicks a piece of lint from his robes.  "What of Lucius Malfoy, Severus?  How is he?"

"Fine, sir."

"And his lovely wife, Narcissa?"

"Also fine, sir."

Dumbledore gives a soft hum.  "Lucius is keeping himself busy, I trust?"

"I don't know, sir."

"You don't know?"

"No, sir."  Severus scrabbles frantically through his mind for something - _anything_ \- to give to Dumbledore, but he can't think of anything damning.  "The last time I saw him, it was a social occasion."

Dumbledore looks interested.  "Oh yes?  And who was at this gathering, Severus?"

"Just me."

"Just _you_?"  Dumbledore sighs.  "Young Mulciber?"

"...I haven't seen him for a while."

"Evan Rosier?"

Severus shakes his head.  "No.  Sorry, sir."

Dumbledore leans forward, his hand absently stroking through his beard.  "Would you find collecting information for me easier if I gave you a specific task, Severus?"

His heart is suddenly thundering in his chest.  "I… I don't know, sir.  I'm very busy at the moment-"

Dumbledore stands, and heads to the wooden dining table in the corner of the room.  In the middle, there's a bouquet of freshly picked flowers, and he runs his hand across one of the flower heads, his fingers gliding down the style to the stigma, a small collection of orange pollen collecting on his skin.  

"I like your flowers, Severus.  It's a homely touch.  Rather feminine."  Then he smiles.  "And I believe that Professor Slughorn has been most pleased with your progress under him.  Naturally, I was rather surprised to hear that you were covering topics that I was certain would've been dealt with under Master Borage, or indeed, Master Jigger…"

"Sir."  The implication of Dumbledore's words is not lost upon him.   _I was right.  He knows she's living here with me_.  

"If you are...revisiting such areas of study, would I be forgiven for thinking that you currently have a little more free time than you did when you were working under Master Jigger?  Revision is always easier than learning a topic for the first time.  Am I not correct, Severus?  Or have my years as an educator been wasted?"

"...yes, sir.  I mean, no sir."  He flounders slightly, and Dumbledore's gaze narrows further.  "The revision is easier, sir," he clarifies, trying not to stumble over his words, "than learning a topic for the first time."

"I pride myself on my role as Headmaster, Severus.  I take great interest in the whereabouts of all of my students and ex-students," Dumbledore's voice is kind and soft, but his blue eyes are piercing.  "I was most impressed with your conduct and work ethic upon leaving Hogwarts."

"Thank you, sir."

"Not only were you working under Master Borage and then Master Jigger, but I seem to recall mention of your face appearing behind the bar at the Three Broomsticks?"

"Sir."

"And Mundungus Fletcher, he always has such positive things to say about you."  Dumbledore smiles.  "I believe your paths may have crossed on occasion?"

"Sir."

"My brother, on the other hand, is a little more-"

"I understand, sir," Severus interrupts, not wanting Dumbledore to list any further extracurricular activities that he's been involved in.   _Has he got eyes everywhere?_

"Good!"  Dumbledore claps his hands together and looks pleased.  "Now that your schedule is a little more open, shall we discuss how we can make best use of your time?"


	50. Flesh and blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of swearing. Lots of accent.

He sits on the back step, his elbows resting on bent knees, and watches a group of moths dancing near the looming streetlamp, ducking and diving to chase the elusive light within.   He doesn't even know what he's doing here - doesn't know what possessed him to visit in the first place.   _A sense of honour, perhaps?  Or rather, guilt.  Guilt that her parents knew and his parents didn't._   It seemed like a good idea - like the right thing to do, but as always when it comes to Spinner's End, whatever he thinks is best always turns out to be the wrong decision. 

He doesn't know whether just to up and leave, whether to just slink out of the back gate like he'd never visited in the first place, or whether to storm through the house as he'd been prone to doing at fifteen, limbs swinging wildly, yelling and slamming doors, and making the sort of scene that made the neighbours come to the windows.   _Another evening showdown at the Snape house.  Roll up, roll up, if you missed the matinee, the show's about to start again!  Tickets are free, but be sure to duck, because the scars are permanent!_

"She don't mean owt by it, lad."

"Right."

"Shove up, eh?"  

Severus does, sliding along the step to his left, and leaning his long legs outwards, the toes of his boots pointing up at the sky.  There's a grunt as Tobias heaves his weight onto the kitchen floor, and squashes into the too small gap. He pushes his own legs out, his battered boots almost aligning perfectly with his son's.  

"She sent yer out 'ere, has she?"

"Yer've grown again.  Legs as long as mine now, lad."

"So people keep tellin' me."  He glances at his da.  "Mam disowned me then?"

"Gone corner shop.  For some fags."  Tobias leans in his pocket and pulls out his battered rolling pouch, offering it to Severus with a smile.  

Severus nods in gratitude, and takes a paper, and a filter, and a clump of light brown tobacco. His fingers tremble slightly as he tries to roll the cigarette cleanly, and before he's even straightened the inner contents, Tobias is licking his own paper and sticking it down.  

"Here y'are, soft lad," and with an elbow to his ribs, Tobias has gifted him the rolled cigarette and taken Severus' loose pieces for himself.  "Yer makin' a right state of it."

"Don't 'ave much call to make rollies."  He flicks his wand and lights his thin cigarette.

"S'pose not," Tobias says, and accepts Severus' proffered flame to light his own.  They sit like this, dusk falling around them, until the cigarettes are nearly to their ends.  They haven't spoken - just sat together, father and son partaking in the constant huff and pull of smoke.  It's eerily silent and sombre at this time of night - the only sounds are their deep exhalations and a stray cat screeching down the back alley - but it's not a relaxing quiet.  It feels as if there's an underlying tension, and a fight is going to surge from somewhere.  Worse still, the yard smells of sewage and overripe bins, although the tobacco at least goes some way to covering it - from where they're sitting, at least.

"Thought yer'd given up smokin'."

"So yer mam thinks an' all," Tobias says, tapping his pocket.  "But a man's gotta 'ave 'is secrets.  You'll know that, lad, now yer grown."

"Not really.  Lily doesn't like secrets."

"Is that why yer told us?"

"Shouldn't 'ave bothered."

"She'll come round."

Severus gives a soft laugh.  "I don't reckon so.  Not this time."

"Aye, she will.  I know yer mam right and proper."

"She hates Lily," Severus mutters.

"Hate's a strong word."

"It's the right fuckin' word!"

Tobias lifts his hand, and clips Severus around the ear.  He winces, but it's not painful - his da's fingers have barely connected.  He shoots a glance towards Tobias, wondering if more is coming, but Tobias has settled back against the doorframe, plucking his pack of tobacco out of his pocket again.  "Me mam never liked yer mam either, y'know?"

 _He didn't know._ "Really?"

"I need another fuckin' ciggy."

"Me an' all, Da."

"Thought yer'd given 'em up, now yer shacked up wi' that bird o' yers?"

"Only 'ave 'em when I'm here."

Tobias laughs then - and to Severus' surprise, it's a rich, gruff laugh, building in Tobias' chest and sitting in his throat.  "Aye, when yerse can cadge off yer old man, I get it."

"I don't cadge off yer!  I din't even know yer still fuckin' smoked 'til tonight."

"Cadge off yer mam though, aye?"  He passes Severus another tightly rolled cigarette.  "An' who gives her money?"

"Government."

"Fuck off wi' yer government bollocks."

"I'm just sayin', yer dole ain't work, is it?"

"Government stole me fuckin' job," Tobias mutters, sniffing loudly.  "Least they could fuckin' do is see me an' me missus right."

"Not yer son an' all?"

"Son's got enough brass bollocks of his own."

The silence falls around them again.  It's even darker now, and the orange lights at the ends of the cigarettes are stark.  "Thought yer was gonna tell me about me gran?"

"D'yer talk like me…  When yer round me, I mean, to..."  Tobias waves his hand. "Yer know."

 _He does_.  "To appease you?"

"Yeah."

 _Yeah._ "No."

"Yer mam don't like it."

"I know."

"Is that why yer do it?"

 _Yeah._ "No."

Tobias appraises him, his eyes disappearing under his thick eyebrows as he squints.  "Why then, lad?  Yer talk proper when yer over the river, when yer chattin' to 'er mam and da, don't ya?  An' at that school, an' them fancy fellas yer mam's always goin' on about yer knowin'. Lord Malfing and Professor Slugson."

"Yer think that's me, d'yer?  Rolling 'r's and unflattening me 'a's?  Stickin' me little finger out when I drink from a cup?"

"I dunno, lad.  That's why I'm askin' yer."

"...I dunno.  I dunno who I am, Da."  Severus looks pained.  "Everyone wants summat different from me."

"That's jus' growin' up, lad.  These new responsibilities messin' wi' yer head, that's all."

 _I knew he'd bang on about responsibilities._ "It ain't just that," he mutters.

But Tobias is on a roll, and it's as if he hasn't heard his son speak.  "Yer wouldn't think I was made out to be a da if yer'd seen me when I was yer age."

 _Too fuckin' right I wouldn't!  You were a fucking shit da_ , Severus wants to scream, but he ducks his head, and looks at the ground.  "Right."

"It's…"  Tobias pulls on his cigarette, and then flicks the end into the yard, and claps Severus on the shoulder.  "Just don't be thinkin' we got room for a little 'un here, if owt's gonna 'appen-"

"Fuckin' 'ell!"  

"All right, calm yersel'.  It's just, yer mam's always talkin' about some war or summat that's gonna happen.  I'm just sayin'-"

"I'm not gonna do that."  Severus spits angrily on the ground.   _As if I'd leave my flesh and blood here with you_.   _And her!  Serve her right if I never bring the kid round - never show either of this pair what my kid looks like.  Do the kid good, I reckon,_ he thinks, sourly, _not to be tainted by these two._

"Good.  Coz yer forget, see, what it's like 'round 'ere."

 _I don't forget.  How could I forget?_ "Right."

"Ain't no good for a kid.  Not round 'ere."

"I know."

Tobias tilts his head.  "Yer know much about the war then?"

Severus sighs.  "There isn't a war, Da.  It's just Mam witterin' on again about nowt."

"There's always wars.  There's wars now.  What d'yer think's happening over the Irish Sea, eh?"

"How I'm s'posed to fuckin' know what the bloody Muggles are up to?" Severus snaps.  "I've got my own stuff goin' on, Da, if yer ain't noticed!"

"Muggles."  Tobias gives a harsh laugh.  "Yer mam used to say that, once upon a time.   _Yer great Muggle_.  Insult, innit?"

Severus looks uncomfortable.  "Not really.  Just a word for yer.  Non-magics, like."

"Just a word."  Tobias looks thoughtful.  "Them and us, is it?"

"Summat like that."

"Got a word for that girl o' yers, 'ave they?"

"Muggleborn."

"An' yersel'?  Muggleish?"

Severus looks at his boots.  "Half.  Coz me mam's Pure, and me da's-"

"-a Muggle," Tobias finishes.

"Yeah."

"Yer thought any worse of, are yer?  Coz o' me?"

"They don't know," Severus mumbles.  "I mean, some of 'em have figured it out, I reckon.  Unusual surname, see?  But Mam's Pure-"

"I don't get it."

Severus smiles, picking at the lace of his boot.  "She ain't never told yer, has she? Yer wanna see her books up in the attic.  Full of it in there."

"I know she was runnin' from summat, that's all.  Pure?"

"Magic an' magic an' magic all through yer family if yer Pure," Severus explains.  "So I reckon even though I'm half Muggle-"

"-the lowest of the low?"

"Yeah," Severus laughs, cheekily, "I'll be all right, coz I'm half Pure."

"An' yer girl?"

He gives a slight shake of his head.  "I'll look after 'er."

"I din't ask yer that."

"Muggleborn.  Might as well say Muggle for some."  He looks at his father earnestly. "They're wrong though.  She's magic all the way through an' all."

"What about this kid then?"

"Be Half."

"Yer don't sound sure."

He doesn't sound sure because he isn't sure; the laws change faster than he can keep up with, and although the child will be his - the son or daughter of a Half - Severus can't deny that his lineage isn't Half and Pure, or Half and Half, or even Half and Muggleborn.  His child will have three Muggle grandparents, and a witch who turned her back on the magical world.

"It'll be all right."

Tobias shifts his weight and stamps his foot.  "Leg's gone dead sittin' 'ere," he grumbles.  "Yer wanna watch it if there's a war, y'know, lad."

"There ain't a war, Da!"

"Yer grandad died in the war.  An' yer uncles."

"Muggle one?"

"Yeah."  Tobias briefly looks at the sky, and crosses himself.

"Fightin'?"

"Yeah."  He looks at Severus sternly.  "Don't fight, lad.  If yer can help it.  That's how yer get yersel' killed."

"I ain't a coward."

"Yer sayin' I am?"

Severus shakes his head quickly.  "Din't say that."

"I ain't sayin' shirk yer duty. _I_ din't shirk me duty!  I'm sayin', don't go stickin' yer hand up, that's all.  Not wi' a kid on the way.  Don't go volunteerin'.  If there's a bullet wi' yer name on-"

"-we don't use bullets," Severus interrupts.  "We've got wands."

There's a pause.  "Yeah, well.  Same's same.  An' as for yer mam…" Tobias sniffs.  "She wanted better for yer, that's all."

Severus stands then, his back aching from having sat on the step for too long, and he kicks his feet in the air, trying to get blood to rush back to his toes.  "What d'yer mean?"

Tobias has quickly moved into the vacant space on the step, his larger frame filling where the door ordinarily sits.  "Yer a kid, lad.  Yer ain't even got the key to the door."

 _It's a stupid phrase.  Key to the door.  A Muggle phrase.  As if being 21 makes any difference._ "Wizarding majority is 17, Da."

"Aye, an' she was a kid, an' all, when she met me.  Wizarding majority," Tobias snorts.  "Means nowt, lad."  It's his turn to look at the ground.  "I reckon in that world of yers…  She coulda been someone, yer mam," he eventually says, quietly. "I never knew she was special, see?"

"Yer mean yer din't know she was a witch."

"Not 'til we had some nightmare of a kid who started settin' fire to the fuckin' curtains."

"I was a baby!  I din't mean to do it!"

"Aye, I'll believe yer an' thousands wouldn't, yer little shit.  But me mam..."

"She guessed?  An' that's why she din't like Mam?  ...Da, yer mam, did she like me?"

But before Tobias can answer, there's a loud slam of the front door, and Tobias stands, abruptly.  "Yer stayin' or goin', lad?"

"What happened to me gran, Da?"

"She died when yer was a babe."

"I know that, I'm not right thick, yer know."  Severus waits, expectantly, but Tobias doesn't say anything else - and he can hear internal doors being slammed, and cups being thumped against the worktop, so Severus puts his finger to his brow, and then points it at his father in a mock-salute.  "I'm off.  Thanks for sharin' yer stash, Da." He retreats out of the gate, and as he pulls it to, he sees his father waving him back. "What?"

"Boy or a girl?"

"Dunno yet."

"Rather one than the other?"

"Nah."

"It's not too late to scarper.  If what yer mam's sayin' is right, 'bout this war?"  Tobias shrugs.  "Men desert women all the time.  She'll just be one o' them statistics, an' her family are posh enough.  Government will see 'er right.  If yer scairt to get tied down too early?"

"I ain't scared."

"Gonna stand by her then?"

"Course."

Tobias nods stiffly.  "Good lad, Russ."


	51. Bean

It's after ten when Severus shows up at the Evans house, and although David shakes his newspaper in quiet disapproval when he enters, Lily runs over and embraces Severus tightly.

"Oh, Sev, you stink!"  Before he can duck his head to kiss her, she pulls her face away, and wrinkles her nose in displeasure.  "No, don't you dare kiss me, you'll taste horrid."

"Sorry."  He rummages in his pockets, looking for an elusive stick of chewing gum - and then he finds one; a warm, thin slice of Juicy Fruit, still in its silver paper wrapping.  "It's not mint," he says, apologetically, folding it into his mouth, and screwing the paper up into his pocket.

"You'll ruin your dinner," David admonishes, watching him chew.

"Sorry," he says, again.   _Can't do right for doing wrong_ , he thinks - but Lily squeezes his fingers and gives him a tight smile, and he feels on solid ground with her at least.

"How did they take it then?" she asks.  "The news of their grandchild?"

He tilts his head, surprise etched on his face.  "How did you know that's where I'd been?"

"I already told you," she laughs, moving away from him, but keeping her hand in his, "you stink of cigarettes.  You only ever smoke when you're with your mum and dad."

David rustles the paper again, disapprovingly.

"I don't always smoke," he says, awkwardly, looking over at David's chair warily.  "Just the odd one.  Now and again.  If they offer."

"That's good then, isn't it?  If your mum offered, she must be-"

"Mam went out," he says, abruptly.  He bends down to untie his laces, breaking contact with Lily as he does so.  "Spoke to Da."

Lily exchanges a look with her parents, the meaning of this not lost upon them.

"Severus, lovey," Rose quickly interjects, "there's a meal in the oven for you.  I've left it on the lowest setting."

"That chop'll be tough," David says, loudly.  "Dinner was four hours ago."

"I'll put some gravy on it.  Won't take a minute."  Rose has disappeared into the kitchen before Severus can protest, and he can hear saucepans and spoons clanging against the stove.

"I don't mean to be a bother," Severus says, quietly, and although David gives a loud sniff of displeasure, he doesn't speak, and carries on reading his newspaper.  Severus looks helplessly at Lily.

"It's okay," she murmurs, toying with his fingers again.  "What did your dad say?"

"Rattled on about the war.  You know what he's like for being inappropriate.  What else would you say when your kid tells you you're going to be a grandparent?"  He adjusts his voice into a gruff mimic of Tobias.  "Well, son, that's great an' all but 'ave I told you 'bout the time the Tommys climbed out of a trench and blew up the Jerrys?  Kaboom!"

David lowers his newspaper a fraction, a frown etched on his brow.  "Which war was he talking about, Severus?  Do you know?"

"Muggle one.  Some Irish one."

"The Troubles?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Got trenches in Ireland, have they?

Severus shrugs.  "Look, I dunno.  You know my da, he's all over the shop.  I lose track.  Some big war or something.  Can't have been that long ago because he said his brothers died in it.  And I know he's old, but he's not that old."

Lily looks surprised.  "I didn't know that.  About your uncles."

"Nor me," says Severus.  "And my grandad Snape, apparently."

"Bloody hell."

"Lily, language!"  David looks over at them.  "Most families lost someone in the war - like your mother's Auntie Mary and-"

"-Great Uncle Joseph, and little Billy," Lily choruses, as if she's heard it a hundred times.

"Didn't think your mum was that old?"

David shakes his head.  "She's not, you cheeky so-and-so," but although his words are stern, there's amusement playing around his lips.  "Rose's father's side of the family.  They were bombed, and her cousin Billy was only a nipper."  He looks at Severus pointedly.  "Like Rose was herself."  He pauses.  "Perhaps your news made your father think about his own childhood, Severus?"

"I asked him once, when I was little, and he said he didn't have any brothers or sisters-"

"-if they were dead by then, I suppose he didn't," Lily says, logically.

"It's not the spirit of the question though, is it, love?  He could've just answered me like a normal person," Severus mutters, bitterly.  "It's probably not true.  He's probably just telling me stupid stories again."

David looks over.  "The war affected a lot of people, Severus.  Everyone copes differently."

Severus doesn't look convinced.  "You're managing to talk about it, aren't you?"

"How old is your dad, Severus?"

Severus shrugs.  "Fifty something.  He had that party at the club a few years ago."

"Yeah, I remember that," Lily says.  "I wore your Slytherin tie and you wore my Gryffindor one."  She grins at him, remembering what Eileen caught the pair of them doing when the last song was playing - and by the look of sudden cheer on Severus' face, she doesn't need to remind him.

"So he'd have fought," David quickly reasons.  "It's different for him, especially if he lost his brothers.  The war was over when I was still in school.  Younger than you both were at that party, if my maths is correct."

"You don't know what he's like, all right?"  Severus shoves his hands awkwardly into his pockets.  "It doesn't mean he has to put a dampener on our good news, does it?  Talking about war when I'm telling him I'm having a kid."

Lily shoots her father a dark look, imploring him to let the topic of war drop.  She slides her hand into Severus' pocket, reaching for his hand, and smiling at him when he slides his fingers between hers.  "So?  What did he say, Sev?  About the baby?"

Severus shrugs again.  "Seems fine with it.  As long as we don't inconvenience him."

Lily smothers a giggle.  "How would we inconvenience him?"

"He was afraid that I'd leave the kid with him."  He looks vaguely amused.  "As if!  I wouldn't leave a half eaten stick of rock with him, great useless bastard he is."

This time, Lily doesn't smother her giggle.  "Oh Sev, I'm sorry.  I'd have come with you if you'd said.  For support."

"Best you didn't."

"We'll have to make sure we invite them out."

Severus gives her a puzzled look.  "Invite them where?"

"So they don't think we're going to impose on them when we take the baby round."

"I don't think Severus means that, Lil," David interjects, peering over his paper again.  "I think Severus' father was worried he'd end up raising your child."

Her eyes widen in horror.  "He thinks I'd give him my baby?"

"Told you," Severus says, with a grin.  "He's tapped in the head.  So yes, best you weren't there.  Besides, I wasn't there that long."

Lily looks pointedly at the clock.  "No?"

"I didn't get there until nearly nine," Severus grumbles.  "Bloody Dumbledore took up most of my evening."

"Dumbledore?"  

At Lily's exclamation, David lowers his newspaper, clearly still following the conversation intently.  "Are you in trouble again, Severus?" he asks, sternly.

"No."

Lily grips his hand more tightly.  "So what did Dumbledore want with you?"

"Just wants me to do something for him, that's all," he says, rubbing his free hand over his eyes.

David's gaze is unrelenting.  "That's hardly an answer.  What would that something be?"

"Severus!"  Rose calls from the kitchen. 

_Saved by the cook._

"I'd best go," he says, moving towards the kitchen and looking apologetically at David, although his sincerity is lacking, "Rose wants me.  You heard."  

"Really, Daddy!" Lily hisses once the door has closed behind him.  "He's already had an earful tonight, by the sounds of it.  Both ears!"

"Lils," David says, patting the arm of the chair and inviting her to sit next to him, "what do you think of Severus' father?"

"Honestly?"

"Honestly."

She perches on the arm, and lowers her voice.  "I think he's a bully."

"Just a bully?"

Lily glances towards the closed kitchen door, as if it bothers her speaking of Severus' family when he might suddenly burst back into the room.  "He's violent."

David nods.  "Anything else?"

"He shouts a lot.  He doesn't make Sev very happy."

"And his mother?"

"From what Sev says, he treats his mum the same too."

David smiles tightly.  "No, I meant, what do you think of his mother?  Separately."

"She's odd," Lily says, picking at the skin on her finger.  "Quiet.  Sometimes she's ok. Sev likes her more than he likes his dad, but that's not saying much."  She pauses.  "I don't know what tonight means, though, if he spoke to his dad and not his mum."

"Do you think they're stupid people, his parents?"

She picks harder at the skin on her finger, and David reaches out and clamps her hands, stopping her from tearing the skin from the nailbed.  When she desists, he loosens his grip.  "Sorry."

"Don't hurt yourself."

She swallows hard.  "No, I don't think they're stupid.  I think they're…  Unhappy.  No, not unhappy!  I think…  I think they're unkind, but…"

"But?"

"...I don't think they mean to be."  Lily looks distressed.  "That's what's so awful about it all.  I don't understand them.  I don't understand why they treat Sev so badly, and I don't understand why he keeps going back when they keep hurting him."

"Because they're his parents.  You come back to us when you need help."

"But you treat me well!"

David looks at Lily and gives her a gentle smile.  "Does Severus know that?"

"Yes," she says, quickly, indicating to the room around them.  "He can see for himself!"

"That's not what I mean.  You said to us when you were kids that he didn't have many other friends-"

"-he still doesn't."

"So, do you think that Severus believes his parents aren't that bad because he hasn't got other relationships to compare them to?"

She thinks then, about Lucius and Abraxas, and whatever strange dynamic had been going on at Malfoy Manor the other night - and she thinks about the way Lucius treated her with his power plays, and the way Severus mutters disparagingly about Avery, and the way that Borage and Jigger treated him, and the way McGonagall looks at her when she thinks Lily is Severus, and the way he'd told her about Narcissa being nice to him, and Lily's heart tightens.  

"Nobody's ever treated him well.  Not really."

David nods.  "So if he believes that his parents care for him," and before Lily can interrupt, he raises a finger, "no, Lily, let me finish.  I think they do care for him.  In their own way.  It's not a way that you or I or your mother understands, but he is their son.  And tonight, he tells them that their family line will continue, which is cause for celebration for most-"

"-you didn't exactly celebrate."

"We didn't walk out either, did we?"

"...no."

"But his mother did.  His mother, who is the only one of us who is magical, walked out.  And she leaves his father to ramble on about war, and death, and warning him not to leave their grandchild with them..."  He opens his hands.  "Well."

"He told them something that made them think he was going to die."

David picks his newspaper back up.  "When he's had something to eat, I think you need to talk with Severus about whatever Professor Dumbledore wanted from him."

* * *

It's not that easy.  Asking Severus.  She wants to take her father's advice, and as soon as they're in the privacy of her bedroom, she wants to take his hand and ask him what he told his own parents to make them react to their happy news in such a way - but as he steps into her bedroom, he looks drawn, and scared, and tired, and he sighs so happily when she holds him in her arms, she can't bring herself to question him.  

 _There's always tomorrow_.

* * *

But she doesn't ask him tomorrow.  Or the day after.  Or the day after that.  Because he left the next morning - long before the milkman had delivered the morning's round - and he still hasn't returned.  Her father keeps glancing at her, and she knows he wants to be kept informed about what's going on, but she doesn't know.  So she doesn't venture, and he doesn't ask - so they dance around each other, all politeness and light, as if they're partaking in some odd performance art.  She stays in the Muggle house in Muggle Britain with her Muggle parents, and neither of them ask when he's coming back, or what's happened to his assertion that she'd be safest at the magical castle in magical Britain with him, her magical boyfriend.

She knows they're concerned.  They don't have to say the words for her to know.  They like him, she's certain of that after all of these years, but she knows they're scared.  Scared of his background, scared of whatever he's wrapped himself up in, scared of whatever his parents are saying to him, and scared that - for all his talk - he's feckless.  They're worried that he was saying the right things, and doing the right things, but as soon as the realisation of what's truly ahead has dawned upon him, he's run for the hills.  

She has no such concerns.  She _knows_ Severus, and she knows he'll come back for her.  He's just working out a way.  She's sure of it.  So when he turns up, a week or so later, clutching a battered duffle bag which she can tell - just from the shape of it - he's enlarged magically, she runs out of the house and throws herself at him, long before he's reached the front door.  He puts the bag down, and as she leaps into his arms, the beaming smiles on both of their faces tells her parents - who are watching from behind the living room window - all they needed to know.

* * *

He perches on the edge of her bed and finishes his second cup of tea whilst Lily sits on the floor and looks at the wide array of brewing equipment strewn around them.  She recognises some of it as having been in their rooms previously - but other pieces that they've unpacked together are new, such as the copper cauldron, and the pewter measuring scales.

"I take it from this that you've decided I'm not coming back to Hogwarts then?"

He shakes his head.  "I don't trust Moody."

She sits back on her haunches, holding two glass beakers aloft and comparing them.  "No?"

"No."

"I don't see the difference."

He takes the beakers from her and holds them up to the light from the window.  "This one," he says, shaking his left hand, "has been purified with distilled water."  He tosses them gently back to her, one at a time.  "See it now?"

"Yeah," she says, "but I think you've mixed them up when you threw them at me."

"Lil, let me have them back," he huffs, reaching for them, but she laughs and moves them out of his way.

"I'm only joking," she says, bouncing up and putting them on separate shelves in her wardrobe.  "I meant Moody."

"What about him?"

"I don't see any difference in him before I got pregnant, and now.  I don't think he's anything to worry about."

"Maybe not, but I think Dumbledore is," Severus says, his tone a little softer, "and Moody is tight with him."  He shrugs.  "I don't want you owing him any favours, and I don't want him spending more time with you than necessary.  Not after what he said about," he waves his hand towards her midriff, "you know."

"I can't ignore him though, can I?  If I go to an Order meeting, I need to get back to you somehow.  I _need_ him.  Or Dumbledore, I suppose."

"But you should be able to get back with Polyjuice!"

Lily furiously digs into the duffle bag, grabbing a handful of measuring spoons from it and putting them on the floor.  "You are such a pain, Severus. You _just_ told me what Slughorn told you, that I can't keep taking Polyjuice, and now you're standing there-"

Severus puts his hands out to stop her from grabbing more things from the bag in a temper.  "Lil, just stop a second," he says, "you'll mess up the equipment-"

"-is that what really matters in this?  This _stuff_?"

"No, but there's knives in there!  …and I'm saying it all wrong," he sighs, and he looks so weary and defeated, she stops, her temper quickly waning.

"Go on then," she says, trying to keep the petulance out of her voice, and giving him a tight smile.  She hands him the bag.  "Get the knives, and try and say it right."

"I _know_ you can't take Polyjuice.  You know you can't take Polyjuice," he snaps, pulling the knives out by their handles and placing them on the top of her dresser.  "But Dumbledore doesn't know that, and Moody doesn't know that, and they both know you're living in the castle, and from what Dumbledore said to me, he _knows_ you've been brewing with Sluggy."

Lily nods, suddenly understanding.  "I'm with you.  It was okay when Moody helped me previously, because he didn't know I had a way of getting back.  But if I don't take it with me this time, and I ask Moody-"

"-they'll smell a rat," he finishes.  "He's as paranoid as they come, old Moody, and he's already suspected something's amiss about..."  He trails off, and moves behind her, placing his hand on her stomach.  Although she's anxious at first, knowing that his quiet touch is the precious subject of what Moody would be suspicious of, she can't help but smile up at him as the little thrum of magic within her seems to beat harder at his touch.  

"Feel that?" she whispers.

He smiles broadly back, his grin spreading across his face.  "Yeah. ...do you think it knows?"

"That you're Dad?"  She nods.  "I think so.  But you need to stop calling our child 'it', Sev."

He shrugs.  "We don't know if it's a he or a she though."

"What did I just say?"

"Well, what do you want to call…"  He pauses and rubs his hand across her stomach again, "'Thing'?"  He grins at her, but his glee is shortlived she prods him just below his ribs.  "Ow!  That hurt, you demon."

"You deserved that," she laughs.  "'Thing'!  What is wrong with you?  I'm not calling our child 'Thing'."  She leans back into his touch, playing with his hand that's still caressing her stomach, and then twists her neck to look at him.  "'Pea'?"

His look is incredulous.  "No child of mine is being called _'Pea'_."

"I didn't mean permanently.  Just...a name for now.  Better than 'it', anyway.  I can think of 'Pea' growing inside me.  Besides, 'Pea' probably is as small as a pea.  Seems apt."

He scowls.  "I hate peas."

"Doesn't have to be the food.  Could be like those flowers in the garden - sweet peas."

"It's getting worse," he warns, with a smile.  "Anyway, 'Pea' reminds me of a urinal."

"Sev!"  She bats his arm with her hand.  "'Pea' not pee!  You're disgusting."

"Hey, I didn't call our kid an awful name."

"You come up with something then, if you're so smart."

He pauses for a moment, his long fingers stroking over her stomach.  "'Bean'."

"'Bean'?  That's no better than 'Pea'!"

"Yeah, it is," he says, with a smile.  "Still small enough to grow inside you.  And they have magic."

"Beans have magic?"

"Yeah!"  He's laughing now, seemingly fuelled by the look of disdain on her face.  He grabs her hand, and squeezes it.  "Come on, Lil, like in that Muggle fairytale.  You've got it somewhere," he says, breaking away from her and scouring her bookcases.

" _Magic_ beans?"  She finds herself chuckling at his keenness.  "You're not even joking, are you?"

"Nope!"

"Sev, honestly-"

"This one!"  He pulls the large picture book triumphantly off the shelf, and settles on the bed.  "Come on then," he says, reaching for her, and pulling her to sit between his legs on the mattress.  "Time for a story."

She laughs as she leans back against him, her head on his chest, and her arms resting on his thighs.  "Sev, you are ridiculous.  You're not really going to a read a fairytale to me, are you?"

"Not to you.  You already know it.  But Bean doesn't."  He grins, wickedly.  "What did your mother say?  It's not too soon for the baby - sorry, for _Bean_ \- to start learning."  He puts his hand back on her stomach, and she can't help but laugh even harder at his infectious enthusiasm.  "Hush, Mummy," he chastises gently, holding the book with one hand.  "You're being very noisy, and Bean needs to listen carefully.  Now, once upon a time..."


	52. Knut or three

London Waterloo is an assault on the senses, even at this late hour, with trains noisily pulling in and out of the platforms, flanges squealing, adults shouting to one another, high-heels and brogues both clattering across the floor, and an overbearing smell of diesel fumes mixing with cigarette smoke, the smell of old chips, broken toilets, and fresh newspaper print.  

 _I'd hate to be here at rush hour_.  Severus watches as groups of Muggles move across the concourse, from station to train, from train to station.  There's barely any commuters now - most of the Muggles seem to be shift workers travelling in to London, or brightly painted partygoers heading for the next venue.

He pulls at his jacket awkwardly; compared to most wizards, he's relatively successful at merging into a Muggle crowd - he's lived too long in Cokeworth not to have an eye for what's acceptable to the Muggle eye - but London is a different beast altogether.  London feels five years ahead, or fifteen years behind - he's sure he's seen Tobias in a shirt like the one the lad across the platform is wearing - or perhaps both, simultaneously, with London resurrecting the fashions of yesteryear for a new generation.   _If it's going to be the next in thing, I might nick it from Da's wardrobe_ , he thinks.   _He never much liked it anyway_.  

He flicks the platform ticket between his fingers, and leans over the arm of the bench to watch the 9.55 draw in.   _On time.  Five minutes and counting_.

"She's a good one, the old Crompton.  Go on, son, get a good look at her.  Fine specimen of British engineering."

Severus looks over at the man who's spoken, and tries not to seem alarmed at the interruption.   _To speak, or not to speak?  What will draw more attention?_ But the man looks at him expectantly, so he gives a slight nod in return.  "...yes."

"The Class 33s are a cut above the 26s and 27s, although," and the man gives a low whistle, "were you there for the launch of the 253s?  I don't think - I never forget a face, you see - I don't think I saw you there.  Were you there?"

"...no."

"Oh, you missed a fine day!  But I knew it!  I told you, I never forget a face!  Like I never forget a train either.  I still make a note, but I don't need to."  He taps his head with his finger.  "All in here, you see."

"...right."

"You're not from round here, are you?"

 _Thought I'd hidden my Cokeworth accent well enough.  Obviously not_.  "...no."

"Well, I can tell you, the 253s are something else.  Have you seen one yet?  Not here, mind, you'll need to get over to Kings Cross, and I know what you're thinking!  How can I get there?  Well, I can tell you the way, you'll-"

"-yeah, I've seen one," he says, desperately trying to stop the man from talking.

"Of course you have.  I bet you went there first, didn't you?  Before coming here? Fine train.  Fine, fine train!  She set the world record for diesel traction a few years back, but - oh, listen to me, telling you things you'll already know - you knew that already didn't you?"

"Yeah."  Severus glances at the man, and the station clock just behind his head.   _Two minutes and counting_.   _How have only three minutes passed?  It feels like twenty listening to this bore._ Severus slowly slides his platform ticket back in his pocket, trying to work out the best way to extricate himself from the conversation.  "Now I've seen the, er, Crompton, I'll-"

"Go round the corner!  Across that part of the concourse there, and down to platform 3, and you'll see a beauty."  The man pauses, his finger aloft, and then breaks into a wondrous smile.  "A Class 20."

Severus looks blankly at the man.  "A...20?"

The man grins even more broadly, mistaking Severus' confusion for wonder.  "Yes, you heard me right the first time!  A Chopper!  It's your lucky day, son.  Go on now, or you'll miss it.  Round that corner there, like I said!"

 _Bloody Muggles_.

Severus slopes off platform 10, and - with one eye on the irritating man who is now waving at him like he's some long lost relative, and pointing wildly in the direction of the furthest part of the station - he dodges behind a stall, and then a bench, and roughly pushes himself into a throng of people heading towards the Underground.  He walks with them until he can escape unseen out of the other side instead of descending into the bowels of the station.  He slinks along the back wall, and leans next to the advertising board where he and Lily had met the wolf on a previous occasion.  He looks at the station clock.   _One minute past.  Late_.   _But surely the wolf will still try his luck?_

Severus' fears are unfounded, because the wolf does - a minute or two later, he comes into view, strolling across the concourse and scanning each and every platform, whilst trying not to seem suspicious.  For the first time in his life, Severus feels almost joyous to catch the eye of Remus Lupin, who, when he meets Severus' gaze, doesn't look quite so pleased.

"You."

"Wolf."

"What do _you_ want?"

"Walk with me," Severus says, as he pushes off the wall.  

"With you?"  Lupin looks at him as if he's grown another head.  "You want me to walk with you?  Walk where?"

"I've got what you came for," he hisses, "but there's a damn fool Muggle trying to talk to me about trains.  Look interested in diesel engines or something, in case he's looking over-"

Lupin looks at him incredulously.  "Look interested in diesel engines?"

"At least it's a good reason for us to be lurking round here with these," he says, flicking his platform ticket.

"You've got a platform ticket?"  Lupin smiles.  "I had no idea you were such a law abiding citizen."

"Been kicking my heels here for a good half an hour," Severus mutters.  "I didn't know if you were going to show, and I didn't fancy being picked up for loitering with intent or fare-dodging."  He nudges Lupin.  "Are you listening to me?  Just point at a diesel engine whilst we pass him, and I don't know, look happy.  But don't look too interested, or he'll come over and start talking to you too."

"Fine," Lupin mutters, and the two of them walk across the concourse.  "Like this?" And then he points and smiles, but his face falls when Severus immediately pushes his arm down.  "What?  What did I do wrong?"

"That's an electric, you idiot.  I said _diesel_."

Lupin smirks.  "Severus Snape, trainspotter, I'd never have-"

"-if you want this potion poured down that drain, I'd keep going, wolf."

Lupin immediately falls silent, and Severus roughly drags him towards the opposite end of the station, and then points at a bench, where they both sit next to each other.

"How did you know I'd come?"

"Desperate animals do desperate things."

"...and this is a trap now, is that it?"  Lupin looks desperately around him, his heart pounding.  "Got your Death Eater buddies to surround us, have you?"

Severus shoots him an annoyed glare.  "Yeah, sure.  That old fella in the corner, he's one of ours.  And that young girl with her mother, she's definitely one."  He rolls his eyes.  "Satisfied now, are you?  Brought enough attention to us, or do you want to start busking as well?"

Lupin clucks his tongue against his teeth.  "I think I can be forgiven for being a bit anxious.  We're hardly..."

"Friends?"  Severus gives a harsh laugh.  "No, you're right there.  We're not _friends_ , wolf."

Lupin bristles.  "So why are you here?  What do you want from me?"

"Cold hard cash.  Same deal as before."

"Sirius isn't going to transfer money into your bank account now you've broken it off with Evans."

"Get Potter to do it then."

"If Sirius won't do it, James most certainly won't."  

"Do I have to stand here listing your dopey friends for you?  It doesn't matter who - just get one of them to do it."

"And say what?"  Lupin looks exasperated.  "Besides, I know Evans is the only person who knows how to brew," and he lowers his voice to a whisper, " _Wolfsbane_."

"Is that so?"  Severus opens his jacket pocket and flashes the vial of Wolfsbane.  "I beg to differ."

Lupin looks stunned.  "Where did you get that from?  You haven't brewed that - you can't have!"

"Funny, because it looks like I did."

Lupin narrows his eyes.  "If you brewed it, then you could've put anything in it."

Severus smirks.  "Do you need me to deny it?  In writing?  What do you want, a certificate of authenticity?"

"I don't care what you say, I _know_ that Evans is the only one who has the method, so…"  Lupin eyes Severus suspiciously.  "...what does this mean?  You and Evans are still together, or-"

"I swiped it from her before we broke up!" he interrupts, angrily.  "She needs to take better care of her things.  And yes, I brewed it!  It may have escaped your attention, but I am an expert in such matters."  He gives Lupin a nasty grin.  "I warn you though, I do like to experiment."

"You _have_ put something in it."

Severus shrugs.  "Maybe.  Maybe not.  I might have brewed it perfectly, or maybe I got a little flash of inspiration - a little spark of creativity!"  His feral smile bares his crooked teeth.  "Maybe it's pure.  Maybe I improved it.  Or maybe - just maybe - I made it worse…"  He taps the vial.  "Who knows, wolf?  Certainly not you!  Question is, do you want it or not?"

"She always said you were innocent, but I can truly believe you killed those people, you sick fuck."

Severus looks amused, and stands.  "Right, that's me done-"

"No!"  Lupin stands next to him, and presses his hand on his shoulder, imploring him to sit down.  "I'm sorry!  That was..."

"Uncalled for?"  Severus nods. "Yeah, I'd say so."

Lupin rubs his hand over his face.  "You don't make this easy, do you?  Let's say this is the real deal - no changes, no extras, no _improvements_ …"

Severus sits again.  "You want it under those conditions and those conditions alone, is that it?"

"No.  Yes!  I mean, I do want it pure, but that's not the problem we've got."  Lupin takes a deep breath.  "Look, it's not that I don't want it, but…"

"I'm getting bored of this, wolf."

"...I don't know if I can get the money into your account-"

Severus abruptly zips his jacket shut, and stands again.  "That's unfortunate."

"Snape, sit down!"  

"I don't know what sort of agreement you expected, wolf, but I'm not a fool and I'm damned sure I'm not a charity!"

"Please, Snape."  Lupin tugs at the hem of Severus' jacket.  "Sit down.  Please.  People will stare."

"Same deal.  Those are my terms."

"I can keep the amount the same," Lupin sighs, "but they'll only agree if it goes to Evans."

"That’s no good to me.  You're not dealing with Evans anymore."

"Snape, be reasonable.  It's not that I don't trust you-"

"-no, obviously," Severus says, the disdain dripping from his voice.  "Apart from accusing me of tampering with an already volatile and experimental potion that takes an age to brew."

"You were the one saying…"  Lupin looks astonished, and then sighs.  "Fine.  Whatever you say.  But tell me this, how do I talk Sirius and James into putting money into your account?  Especially after you've done!"

"Not my problem, wolf."

"It _is_ your problem," Lupin reasons, "because I assume you're not doing this out of the goodness of your heart, are you?"  He looks quizzically at Severus.  "So why are you doing it?  Either you and Evans are still-"

"Yeah, or maybe I don't like the idea of dark dangerous creatures roaming around where I live and work," Severus spits.  "Maybe that's it, _wolf_."

"It's not.  There's more afflicted with this illness than just me."

Severus shrugs.  "What can I say?  No other wolf has ever tried to tear me limb from limb-"

"-that wasn't-"

"You?  No.  No, that was Black, wasn't it?"

Lupin gives a little laugh.  "Is that what this is?  You want your arch enemy Sirius Black-"

Severus scoffs.  " _He_ is not my arch enemy-"

"Fine!  Whatever he is to you…"  Lupin stares at Severus.  "I'm just saying, if he pays you, he'll think that you're still with Evans."

"He'll be wrong."

"Wrong or not, you know what Sirius is like for shouting his mouth off - and although he's been unceremoniously discharged from his immediate family, he knows how to get word around, if you know what I mean?  So if you have staged this little break-up-"

"-I'm not with Evans, you dumb wolf!"  Severus looks disgusted.  "I'm not with Evans, I despise Muggles, and I really, _really_ fucking hate wolves.  Present company most definitely included.  In fact, present company right at the top of the fucking list!"

Lupin shrugs.  "I don't need your potion, Snape.  I can handle the transformation."

"That's why you were sniffing around here tonight, was it?  Why you were willing to line Evans' pockets for this one little brew?"

"I'm not pretending it's a pleasant experience!" Lupin finally snaps.  "So yes, if I can get it, I'll take it.  But if not, it's out of my hands.  When that moon rises, and shows its full face, I don't get a say in any of this anymore.  It'll happen whether I like it or not."  He shakes his head.  "Wouldn't you pay handsomely to evade your destiny?"

"...I'd pay handsomely for a lot of things if I could use Sirius Black's galleons instead of my own."

Lupin gives a soft laugh.  "Touché.  But that doesn't solve the problem of getting the money to you, not unless you want Sirius thinking you're still hooked up with your Muggle witch."

There's a long silence.  "He does have a nasty habit of leaping to the wrong conclusion and running his mouth off," Severus concedes.  "...all right.  Use Fletch."

"Fletch?  Mundungus Fletcher?  From the Or-"  And then Lupin realises what he's started to say, and clamps his mouth shut.

Severus shrugs, pretending that he hasn't heard Lupin's slip of the tongue.  "Yes, Mundungus Fletcher.  He has a line in brokering transactions.  Get them to give him the cash - and make sure that _you_ keep out of it.  The more degrees of separation between us the better, especially after this ridiculous meeting tonight."  Severus glances anxiously over his shoulder.  "And tell Fletch…  Well…on second thoughts, I don't care what you tell him."

"We've got to tell him something, else how will he know to give it to you?"

"Oh, he'll know," Severus says, his voice low.  "Now, wolf, we're agreed - same deal?"

"Same deal."

"You need to add twenty percent for Fletcher's cut."

"Split evenly between us?"

Severus gives him a withering look.  "We just agreed, _same_ deal.  Don't shortchange me, else we won't be meeting again."

"Snape, that's not-"

"Not what?  Why are you even bothered?  It's not your money."  He leans forward, sliding the vial into Lupin's hand.  "Tell Black it's a seller's market.  He'll understand.  If he's not got enough, I'm sure the Potter coffers can lend you a knut or three."  He straightens, zipping up his jacket once more.  "And not here next time.  Euston."

"Euston?"

"Fewer spotters," he says.  "Unless you're going to learn the difference between a diesel and electric for our next happy meeting?"

In spite of himself, Lupin smiles.  "I wasn't planning to."

"Right.  Euston it is.  And make it 9."

"Platform, or time?"

"Both.  Some of us have homes to go to."


	53. Traitor

Five days.  It's a long time to have to wait before she sees him again, but she understands his reasons for not wanting to travel from London to Cokeworth before heading back up to Hogwarts.  When she'd dragged the truth out of him - of where he was intending to go, and what he was intending to do - he'd looked unnerved, and she'd had to fight the urge to hold him and reassure him that he wouldn't be followed, to tell him it was just paranoia.  The truth was, she couldn't - her adulthood experiences in the magical world had taught her that his concern was not unfounded, and his caution was reasonable.  It was sensible that he kept a sizeable distance between their safe haven with her parents from his dealing, even if the purchaser on this occasion was someone aligned with - as she saw it - the side of the righteous.

 _"You can't trust any of them,"_ he had said, scornfully, when she'd offered to go with him, desperate to stay near him for a little while longer.   _"Stay here where it's safe."_

She doesn't agree with his assessment about not trusting those in the Order.  Least, not when it comes to Remus Lupin.  She had never been close to the boy at Hogwarts; he was in far too deeply with Black and Potter, and Severus had always been at odds with the pair, meaning she had no interest in befriending Lupin - it would've felt far too disloyal.  Yet, from what she saw in the common room, Lupin was a little like Pettigrew, an affable enough boy who was hanging on the fringes of the boisterous twosome who roamed the halls of Hogwarts.  Away from Slytherin and surrounded by Gryffindors, he was generally likeable, with a cheerful laugh, and a mischievous smile.  

 _"He was hardly like Mulciber, put it that way,"_ she'd argued as she and Severus had talked it out.  

Severus had been equally adamant.   _"The wolf was just as bad as the two idiots,"_ he'd lamented.  

She'd tried to suggest that Black was the instigator, and Potter the perpetrator, and the fault lay with those two alone, but Severus wasn't having any of it.  

_"Lupin and Pettigrew may not have drawn their wands first, but it's only because they're cowards.  They were quick enough to join in when I was being bested and they had nothing to fear - so no, Lily, he is as bad.  Both of them are.  They laughed along, and they encouraged the pair of them.  They're enablers."_

She didn't like to point out that she'd heard of times when he'd - _allegedly_ \- been with those in Slytherin house who behaved in a similar way.  Granted, she'd never heard of Severus holding an innocent at wandpoint with malicious intent as those Gryffindor boys routinely did to him, but she had spied him in the corridors at a distance, walking near Avery and Mulciber and various others dressed in green and silver, with either a broad smile or a nasty smirk on his face.  It wasn't as much of a stretch as she would've liked to imagine him flanking them and behaving in a similar fashion to a Lupin or a Pettigrew, unwittingly encouraging his associates' behaviour, whether he agreed with it or not - but she didn't want to get into a discussion with him about what's good for the goose, or whether the chicken or the egg came first, or anything about reaping what you sow, or any other trite expression - not when her boyfriend was about to walk away for another week, and having to pause for a pit stop in enemy territory on the way.

It makes her feel queasy.  It's only been ninety minutes since he left, his hand raised in a wave, but it feels like hours since they were sat in her room together, her head resting on his shoulder, and the Top 40 counting down on Radio One.  

She sits between her parents, quietly watching the television, trying to remember to laugh in all of the right places - but she's half a beat behind, because her mind is on Severus and not the programme blaring from the far side of the room.  It makes her uneasy to think of him going alone to meet Lupin.  Not because she fears Lupin's reaction to him - _he'd be grateful, surely?_ \- but Severus himself.  He's still a little prickly, although he's more composed than when he was a teenager, and she can't help but fear the idea of him squaring up to his old antagonist, unable to hold his tongue.  And it would be Severus who would be the one in trouble; he's the one carrying the potion which would see him convicted and surely sent to Azkaban if he was caught.  The list of offences is long - illegal brewing, potion dealing, stolen methodology, patent infringement - and the worst case scenario simply doesn't bear thinking about.  Especially not with his existing record.

But she can't help it, and her mind keeps wandering back to the idea of him standing there with the vial secreted on his person, and a burly auror grabbing him by the scruff of his jacket, rifling through his pockets.  Yet again, she glances at the clock on the mantelpiece - _four minutes have passed_ \- and the more she thinks about what could be happening, the sicker she feels.  He won't be back in touch now, not until next weekend, and without any way of communicating with him, there's no way for her to be reassured.  She can't be certain that the meeting with Lupin was successful and uneventful until Severus is standing on the doorstep, waiting for her to pull open the door with that familiar smile on his face - and at best, that's five days away.

It's almost unbearable.  She can't sit with her parents any longer, pretending that all is well.  She feels an overwhelming need to be close to her partner, even though - in the most positive scenario, with the deal successfully completed - he's hundreds of miles away.  She retreats upstairs to her bedroom; the room filled with his equipment, and his messy but detailed notes in his scrawled, spidery handwriting, and she starts to brew.  As she touches the pages in his books, and reads his words, she can almost imagine his hand over hers, guiding her to stir the cauldron in a specific manner, and silkily whispering the methodology into her ear.  

* * *

When he turns up the next week, she throws herself at him, and after a heated kiss on the doorstep, she drags him upstairs with a beaming smile.  He doesn't say very much, and his face remains placid, but as she sits on the bed, she glances across and notices that he has a hint of a smirk playing around his lips.  She wonders what he's thinking, but her brush of Legilimency yields nothing, as he suddenly twists and passes her his notebook before sitting down next to her.

"I'm sorry," she says, ten minutes or so later, her attention focused on his notes from the past week, "this must be terribly boring for you."

He looks stunned.  "What?  Being here?  I'm with you, Lil, and-"

She laughs, sliding her arms around his waist.  "That's good to know, but I meant this," and she holds the notebook up, tapping the pages.  "Going over old ground with Sluggy."

"Ah."  He relaxes then, his arms looping around her in return.  "Yeah, it's not the most interesting way to spend my day."  He drops a light kiss on the top of her head.  "But it feels unfair.  I've been taught the same techniques by two - well, three - Masters, whilst you're stuck here, trying to follow an apprenticeship in a Muggle room and from my notes."

"It could be worse."

"Don't, love."

She looks at him then, pulling her face away from his chest.  "It's the truth.  Most Muggleborns-"

"You don't have to tell me," he interrupts, his voice a little cold.  "I've rather been having my fill of magical politics, of late."

"Dumbledore?"

"And the rest," he mutters.

"Avery?"

"Mmm."  

"...Mulciber?"

He pulls away from her then, and pushes himself to the edge of the bed, his feet on the floor.  "Tell me about your brewing this week, love," he says, abruptly changing the subject.  "Any difficulties with techniques?"

She sighs, but from his tense demeanour, it's obvious that their previous conversation is over.  "Sev…"

"I'm being useless," he says, loudly, "what sort of tutor am I?  I need to check your brews."  He jumps back up off the bed and bends at his hips, peering at the neat line of vials on the dresser.  Her heart beats a little faster as he picks each up, holding it to the light - or, at some points, removing the stopper and sniffing or tasting.  He places the last one back down, and then he catches her expression, clearly having been lost in the moment of evaluating the potions.

"Well?"

"Nervous?" he teases, the left side of his mouth quirking in amusement.  "You shouldn't be."

She feels the tension draining from her.  "Thank you."

"I'd give them all a T," he says.

Her eyes widen, and her mouth gapes, and then she sees his grin growing wider.  "You git, Severus."

"The one and only," he laughs, holding his arms up to stop her from grabbing him - and then he grabs her instead, kissing her forehead.  "I didn't do any better myself," he admits, "when I brewed these for Sluggy last week."

She gives him a critical look.  "You are trying to pretend that you haven't done this before though.  If you were brewing legitimately, then you'd probably outclass me."

"Missing our competitive school days?" he smiles.  "You just want another chance to wipe the floor with me."

"Twice," she says, rolling her eyes.  "I beat you twice."

"And I've still not come to terms with either occasion."  He steps away, and looks again at the potions.  "I'm not lying.  These are as good as I've ever brewed.  And without a real teacher!"

"Your notes are flawless," she says.  "And if I remember Potions at school correctly, I'm sure that Sluggy wouldn't have written it out for me in such detail."  She taps the notebook.  "These amendments and improvements are all your own, aren't they?"

He shrugs.  "You still brewed it.  I'm impressed, love."  He glances at the ceiling, pretending to check for splatter marks.  "And with no explosions either."

"...no, Mummy would have a fit!  The decorators only painted this room last summer."

"Well then," he laughs, settling back down on the bed, "you're definitely one up on me.  I blew up at least three cauldrons when I brewed this set of potions for the first time.  Borage nearly had an aneurysm."  

She catches the odd look in his eye, and her skin crawls as she remembers the terms of his apprenticeship, and what his punishment for such reckless behaviour might have been.  She sits next to him, his notes still in hand, and nestles herself under his arm.  "What did you brew this week, then?  What's in store for me next?"

"I want you to investigate Polyjuice."

"Polyjuice?  You're not serious, are you?  Surely Sluggy hasn't had you brewing Polyjuice?"

"No, but I want you to do so."

"That's adding insult to injury, Sev."

"It's not meant to be," he gripes.  "I told Sluggy that you - as me - wanted to investigate it.  I needed some way of finding out whether or not it was safe for you to take, or if it was safe for you to brew any potions at all!"  When she doesn't answer, he huffs.  "...sorry, I suppose, " he belatedly adds, but he doesn't look in the least bit apologetic.

"Right."  Her voice is a little colder than she intends, but it feels laughable - to be forced to brew the potion that had given her a little bit of freedom in their world, only to now be unable to consume it.

"And he's going to ask," he continues, oblivious to her continuing displeasure, "how your experimentation is going, and Merlin knows, Lil, I'd do it myself but with pretending to you pretending to be me, and doing what Dumbledore wants, and seeing Malf, and trying to keep on good terms with Fletcher-"

"Keep in with Fletcher?"  She eyes him suspiciously.  "Have you been brewing for Mundungus again?"

"...no."  He winces at her annoyed look.  "Well, yes, a little."

"Severus!  You said you wouldn't."

"He was causing me a few problems."

"I thought you said you could handle him."

He sighs.  "I can, but it's tricky.  This situation with the wolf…"

"Mundungus is involved?"

"He's brokering the deal," Severus explains.  "With us broken up, Black won't put the money into my account."

"I didn't think of that."

"Me neither," Severus sighs.  "I should've."

"Lupin's not telling them you're brewing it, then?"

Severus shakes his head.  "Not a chance.  It was bad enough when I was the greasy wannabe Death Eater, but now I'm the evil bastard ex-boyfriend to boot."  He chuckles.  "So the money has to go to Fletcher, who doesn't reveal the recipient to the dunderheads."

"And don't tell me, Mundungus wants his cut?"

"He's already getting his cut, but he wants more."  Severus looks pained.  "Greed, pure and simple.  He knows what he wants, and he saw a way to get it."

Lily shakes her head.  "I thought he was going to diversify."

"Reckons he has," Severus sighs, "but you know Fletcher, he'll tell you anything.  And party drugs are where he makes his money - but that means I had to speak to Malf before brewing anything, and balancing the two of them...it gives me a headache, Lil.  They both have very different ideas of what the market should look like."

"I can imagine."

"You know Fletcher, he's a 'line his pockets' type, whereas Malf…  Malf wants to take over the world," he says, his gaze darkening - and as annoyed as she is, she can't help but remember seeing that same grumpy expression on his face when he was a little kid; his jaw set firm, and his black eyes narrowing - and it makes her smile.  "What?" he grumbles.  "What are you looking at?"

"You, you idiot," she says, and leans up to kiss him.  

He reciprocates - once, twice - and then he pulls away, looking awkward.  "I've got to go."

"You're not staying?"

"I've promised-"

"It's fine," she says, coldly.  "It's not like I've waited all week to see you."

"Lil…"

She doesn't look at him, and busies herself with reading his notes.  "I've said, it's fine."

"I'll come back later," he promises.

"Whatever."

"...I don't have to," he snaps, irritation getting the better of him.  "I could stay out."

"You do what you want.  I'm sure you're busy with your new friends."

He sighs, exasperatedly, and grabs his outer robe.  "I haven't got time for this, Lily."

She doesn't relent, and still doesn't look at him.  "You can take those with you," she says, waving vaguely towards the potions she had so carefully brewed.  "I have no need for them.  Not here.  Not in this _Muggle_ world."

* * *

She's already in bed when he returns, his knock at the door rousing her from her sleep.  She hears her father welcoming him in, and a muffled conversation between Severus and her mother, and then the stairs emit several loud creaks as he slowly climbs up them.  His tap on her bedroom door is a little softer, and he pushes the door gently open when she doesn't reply.  She quickly shuts her eyes, pretending that she's unaware of his presence - and then she hears him mutter something under his breath, and the landing light snaps off.

He fumbles around in the dark, and the familiar sounds of him stripping and dropping his clothes in a heap on the floor seem louder than ever in the silence, despite his intent to be quiet - t-shirt first, then his left sock, then his right, and then finally, his jeans.  He pauses then, and she's almost tempted to open her eyes to see what he's doing - but then he quietly steps around the bed, and carefully lifts the covers, and slides in - and he does so with such consideration and concern, she doesn't want to reveal that she's been awake all along.

* * *

The tables are turned the next morning, when she wakes before him.  She watches him for a while, his eyelashes long and dark against his pale cheeks, and his expression relaxed - and she finds that despite wanting to talk to him, to whisper an apology, and to seek comfort in his embrace, she can't bring herself to wake him.  She wonders if he would mind, given her final words to him, and his to her - but then she remembers that he came back, despite the late hour, and even when he found her apparently sleeping, he chose to stay.

Nor did he wake her, she realises.   _He's worn out_ , she thinks, and she lifts the duvet carefully, trying not to disturb him.  She slips out of the bed, and scrunches the duvet back around him, fighting the urge to bend and kiss his forehead.

 _Shower_.   _He might be awake when you return_.

* * *

It's the dresser drawer opening which wakes him, but when he sees her bent over and rifling through the garments, selecting what to wear for the day, he is anything but annoyed.  He watches hungrily as she pulls off her nightie, and when he sees her bare skin, it's all he can do not to groan.  She turns then, and he shuts his eyes, keeping up the pretence of sleep - but after a moment, he cracks one eye open again, and she's turned away, her gaze now focused on the handful of bras that she's clutching.  

When she's clothed, there's barely any bump, but he's so used to her naked body, the subtle rounding of her abdomen screams at him that she's with child - _his_ child.  She holds up one bra and then the other, inspecting the cups, and his gaze lingers on her breasts, which seem fuller each time he sees her.  He'd been so desperate to ply them with affection in those early days, unaware of how tender they'd been until she pulled away from him, her protest clear.  He hadn't touched her since then - hadn't dared - and watching her try each bra on before discarding it made him crave her all the more.

Choice made, she throws a couple onto her dresser - clearly now too small for her changing body - and then slides the drawer shut.  He can tell from how slowly and deliberately she closes it that she's trying not to wake him, and he immediately snaps his eyelids shut again to continue the pretence.  He listens intently, trying to hear the soft click of the catch of the door which indicates her departure, and as soon as he does, he rolls over so that he's flat on his back and slides his hand into his pants.  

The image of his naked witch is burnt into his mind, and he can't stop himself from fantasising about her, knowing that after that unexpected spot of voyeurism there's no chance of his morning erection wilting of its own accord.  He drags his underwear over his cock and down to his thighs, licks his palm, and with the image of Lily fresh in his mind, he strokes himself. 

He's fairly sure that she's showering - _fifteen minutes at least_ \- and is mostly reassured that nobody will discover him, but then, just as he's finding a rhythm, for no good reason, he thinks about Rose knocking on the door with a cup of tea, or David bursting in with an offer of a cooked breakfast, and a flash of fear shoots through his chest.  How shameful it would be to be caught pleasuring himself - more shameful than being caught having sex with their daughter, even, as if he was a randy teenager incapable of controlling himself instead of a mature adult.

This thought causes him to apply more pressure, to grip himself harder.   _You need to finish, quickly_ , he thinks, and he moves his other hand to cup his bollocks.   _Finish before you're caught, finish finish_ _finish_ \- so he closes his eyes again, forcing his fears out of his brain and focusing once more on Lily.  He thinks about the way she looked that morning, relives how she would touch him and caress him, and the dirty words she'd whisper in his ear.  He thinks about the way her body is changing now that she's carrying his baby, and the way she would bring him to completion with a swift swirl of her hand.  His jaw falls slack as his body starts to tighten, and he's so lost in the moment, he's a half second too late to react when the door swings open.

"What are you doing?"

 _Fuck_.

He opens his eyes, confronted with the furious face of Lily.  His breathing is ragged, and he can feel that his cheeks are flushed, and he leaves his hand wrapped around his still stiff cock beneath the duvet.  She closes the door, and places her hands on her hips, her lips pursed.  She was hardly impressed with him last night, but this is something else - it's been a while since he's seen her this angry, but then what does he expect, wanking alone in her bed whilst her parents are downstairs.

"Well, Severus?"

The more he doesn't answer, the angrier she seems to get - her skin is drained of colour, which makes her freckles stand out more than ever, and as she tilts her head to appraise him, his cock twitches in his hand.   _Traitor_ , he briefly thinks.   _It's behaving like that which got me into this mess in the first place_.

"Honestly," she spits, stamping over to the dresser and yanking the drawer open, "it's bad enough you don't fancy me anymore-"

"Don't fancy you?"  He sits upright immediately, his eyes wide.  

"I know I'm putting weight on, and I'm barely a witch these days, not like those Purebloods you're friendly with-"

"Fucking hell, Lily, of course I fancy you!  This is _because_ of you.  You're driving me crazy, witch."

She pauses, her hand still on the dresser.  "Really?"  It's presented as a question, but the disbelief in her tone tells him that she's not keen to listen to what he has to say.

He stares at her, his mouth slightly agape before composing himself.  "Really, _witch_ ," he says again, more firmly.  "Not just any witch, but _my_ witch."

"Then why don't you want us to have sex?"  She mumbles the sentence, the words running into one another, as she finds it difficult to put her concerns into words.  "Unless you think I'm unattractive?"

"I can't hear you.  Come here, love," he says, beckoning her towards the bed.  "Come and talk to me properly."

She's reluctant, but she moves towards him, sitting where she'd been lying earlier.  "Is it Avery?"

"Avery?"

"I know you go down Knockturn with him, and I know he likes to visit Discrete Knights-"

"-you know I don't do anything when I go there," he interrupts, sternly.  "It's Avery, you know what he expects of me when we're together - you know what he's like."

"...I don't," she says.  "Not really."

"Yeah, well, that's probably for the best," he mutters.  "I'm not hanging out with him for fun," he says, shuffling closer, "but because Dumbledore wants me to.  Please, get back into bed, Lil.  ...please?"

She doesn't move towards him, but she lifts her legs onto the bed so she's lying down, and she doesn't pull away when he lifts the duvet in invitation, accepting it covering her when he gently sets it down.  "Why?"

"I saw you," he says, honestly, "this morning.  Sorting through your drawer.  Naked, and..."  He groans.  "I'm sorry, Lil, I didn't mean to…I don't know, disrespect your parents by-"

"It's not about disrespecting my parents!  I don't care about my parents!"  She's almost shaking with anger, such is her outrage.  

"Then, what?"

"It's about the fact that you find me so repulsive that you won't touch me anymore, and-"

"Wait, Lil," he says, propping himself up and touching her cheek with his fingertips.  "...you want me to touch you?"

She exhales loudly, her eyes roaming over his face, not sure what to make of his confused expression.  "Don't ask stupid questions."

And then he leans over her, his hands braced above her head, and she can feel the heat coming from his body as it invades her space.  "I thought," he murmurs, his lips grazing the sensitive skin where cheek meets ear, "you'd find it frustrating.  Me doing this."

"...I _am_ frustrated," she whispers, her neck twisting as he kisses along her jawline.

"But if we can't…  If we can't make love-"

"We can.  Mummy and Daddy know we're together, and-"

"Not them," he murmurs.  "But our baby?"

She realises then, and she swallows hard.   _All these weeks_.  "You won't hurt the baby, Sev."

His surprise causes his arms to buckle slightly, and she gives a soft moan as his hard cock brushes against her thigh.  

"Are you sure?" he asks, breathlessly.

She turns her head, and captures his open mouth, kissing him with a ferocity that stuns him into submission.  She takes the lead, rolling him over onto his back, and sitting astride him.  He groans as she grinds against him, and then she rakes her fingernails down his chest, over and over, harder and harder, until the faint pink lines she's created on his skin start to turn red, and he squirms beneath her in what appears to be a silent beg for mercy.

"Too much?"

He shakes his head.  "No," he says, and then he leans up, capturing the back of her neck with his hand and roughly pulling her in for a searing kiss.  Her moment of dominance is lost, as he turns them back over, and his fingers stroke leisurely down her sides, his fingertips moving in gentle circles across her hips, and down the outside of her legs.  He's slow to move back up, and as his fingers softly caress the insides of her thighs, she whimpers.  He stills completely at her reaction, and she groans in frustration, spreading her legs wider in invitation.  

"Sev…"

"You want me," he breathes, and for a moment, she doesn't know if it's a question or a statement, and then she catches that flash of self-confidence in his eyes.   _A statement_.  

"And you still want me," she says, arching her back as his fingers dance their way higher.  Ten minutes ago, it would have been a question, but now her statement is as sure as his is.   _He wants me_.

"Oh yes, witch."  His breath is hot in her ear, and he gently teases at the lobe.  "Do you know how beautiful you are?  How much you turn me on?  With my child - _our_ child - blooming within you."  

She doesn't answer, her confidence in her body still undermined from the past few weeks, and then she gasps as he sucks hard at her neck.  "Sev!  My parents will see-"

"They already know that you're mine," he growls, nipping at her skin.  "What's a love bite compared to a baby, hmm?"  And then he bites her shoulder hard, as if to prove a point, and she tumbles him over, pinning him to the bed.  She leans down, her teeth capturing his nipple until he hisses, and in response, he thrusts upwards, over and over, the friction between them causing her to moan.  She writhes against him, and he doesn't tire of this, his eyes bright with amusement and heat, clearly enjoying the way that she's reacting - and in the end, when she feels as if she won't last much longer, she's the one to halt his game, reaching down and guiding him to her entrance, moaning as his next thrust buries himself deep inside her.

* * *

If she needed a shower before, she definitely needs one now - she's hot, and sweaty, and sticky - but she's happier than she's been for weeks, and one glance at Severus tells her that he feels the same.  There's a relaxed and contented smile on both of their faces as they lie together.  She toys with his mouth, her forefinger gliding teasingly over his lips until he eventually parts them, and captures her digit, caressing it with his tongue.

"I've missed you," she says.  "This.   _Us_."  She gives him the saddest smile.  "I can't believe you thought-"

He groans, and lets her finger slip from his mouth.  "I can't believe I thought that having sex would harm you both," he says, his eyes momentarily closing in obvious dismay.  "Weeks, Lil!  I've not wanked this much in years."

"I should've realised there was something wrong," she says, gently.  "I know you got your sex education from those magazines Lucius gave you, and not much else."

"You," he says.  "You were the something else.  You were my education."

"So your parents never told you-"

"No," he says, sharply.  There's a momentary pause, and then he groans, slinging his forearm over his eyes.  "Merlin, I've been driven wild, Lil, wanting you so much and not daring to touch you, and-"

"We need to keep talking," she interrupts, seriously, her hands still roaming his skin.  "I can't seem to read you anymore. I tried yesterday, but..."

Severus looks a little guilty, and peers out from beneath his arm.  "Occlumency," he mutters.  "I need to keep the walls up more often now that I'm working for Dumbledore, and I find it hard to let it drop."

"Even when it's me?"

"Even when it's you," he says, softly.  "I can't seem to switch it on and off. It's all or nothing, and I daren't let my guard down.  I daren't show any sign of weakness."

"Then you need to talk to me," she warns, threading her fingers through his hair - and although he briefly looks anguished, she kisses him before he can protest, "and I know you find it impossible, but I can't go through this again."

He responds strongly, his arms wrapping around her as they kiss more deeply, and when he pulls back, he nods.  "Me neither, love.  Me neither."


	54. Taste of a bad boy

Avery yawns, and kicks a loose pebble.  "How long did you say he'll be?"

"He'll be here any minute," Severus replies, frowning at the cobbled ground.  "I know you're bored, Ave, but don't go drawing attention to us."

"It's just a pebble."

"A noisy one."

Avery stops, and puts his hands up in mock surrender.  "So, what've you been up to?  Been into the Muggle world recently?"

Severus freezes, his hand toying with the vial in the his robes pocket.  "No," he says, taking care to ensure his voice is even.  "Should I have been?"

"I went the other week and wished I hadn't bothered.  Pointless," Avery says, lightly. "I thought there'd be more fighting after all those strikes the other year, but it's gone quiet."

"The Winter of Discontent."

"What?"

"That's what they called it," Severus explains.  "The Muggle press."

"Sounds stupid."

"It's from Richard III."

"What happened to Richard I and Richard II?"

Severus leans his head back against the wall, wishing he hadn't mentioned anything.  "They died."

"Brutal, how?"

"The second starved to death, and the first was slain by an ant."

"An ant?"  Avery looks confused.

"You've never heard of Richard the Lionheart?"

Avery's blank look says it all.  "Is he Richard IV?"

"...yeah," Severus says, wearily.  "Something like that."  He pushes off the wall and paces up and down the small cobbled alley, resisting the urge to peer into the adjoining street.

"Snape?"

"Yeah?"

"This ant.  How big was it?"

 _Fucking hell_.  "It's metaphorical, Ave.  King Richard-"

"Wait, which one of them was a king?"

"They all were."

"Bit of a coincidence, isn't it?  All having the same name?  Not very imaginative."

 _I might actually murder him_.  

Severus takes in a deep breath.  "King Richard," he says, not pausing to allow Avery to interrupt him, "was also called Richard the Lionheart, because he was a fierce and respected warrior.  A kid, not much younger than us, shot him with a crossbow.  Hence the ant.  The ant slaughtered the lion.  Understand now?"

"Yes," Avery says, although the look on his face suggests otherwise.  "And this kid's name was Antony, right?"

"...right," Severus says, giving up.

"You know a lot of weird shit about Muggles, Snape.  How do you even know this stuff?"

Before Avery can probe further, there's a soft pop of Apparition, and to Severus' relief, Rabastan Lestrange strides over to the pair.  "Snape."  He looks Avery up and down.  "Who's this?"

"Bast, this is Avery.  Avery, Bast," Severus says, quickly.  "Avery was in Slytherin with me."

Rabastan nods but still eyes Avery curiously.  "Snape here is a brewer.  What do you do, Avery?"

"This and that," Avery says, looking a little awkward.  "You're Dolph's brother, aren't you?"

"This and that?" Rabastan murmurs.  "Who do you do this and that for?"

"I can't say," Avery says, looking panicked.

"He spends a lot of time with Mulciber," Severus interjects, aware of his friend's discomfort.

"Good to hear," Rabastan says, suddenly smiling broadly, and holding his large hand out for Avery to shake it.  "Can't escape the grunt work.  Can't all be brewers like Snape here."

"You've done your share of grunt work though, haven't you, Snape?" Avery says, generously, keen to make a good impression.  "That fight we had in Lewisham in the summer holidays before seventh year, remember?"

Rabastan looks interested.  "Oh yes?"

"Yeah, some big Muggle march - loads of protestors, and-"

"They were just Muggles," Severus drawls, disdainfully.

"Doesn't mean it's not fun to fight them."  Avery grins at Rabastan.  "Show them their place."

"And did they know that you were a wizard, Avery?"

"...well, no.  The statute and all that."

Rabastan looks amused.  "So you weren't showing them their place, were you?  You were just another Muggle thug."  He appraises Severus.  "And you were there as well, were you, Snape?  I'd have thought Muggle scrapping was beneath you, what with the way Malfoy talks about you."

"I was a kid," Severus says, quickly, glaring at Avery.  "It was just a way to let off steam.  Wanted to hurt some people who didn't matter."

"Ah," smiles Rabastan.  "Now _that_ is a better answer."  He reaches into his robes and pulls out a pouch.  "A little more for you," he says, placing the heavy coin bag into Severus' palm, "now that we've cut out the filthy middleman."

"Who's the-"

"Shut up, Ave," Severus snaps, pulling out the small vial and passing it to Rabastan.  "As agreed, Bast."

"Pleasure doing business with you, Snape," Rabastan says, sliding the vial carefully into his pocket.  "And it was _interesting_ to meet you, Avery."

* * *

It's quite appealing, Avery's flat - or it would be, if it was clean and tidy.  The ceilings are high, and the fireplaces ornate, and the tiled entrance is intricate, all confirming the wealth that Severus always knew was behind the Avery family; the wealth that means that Avery can afford to wander around both the Muggle and magical worlds, causing strife and picking fights.  

 _No apprenticeship for Avery_.   _No sweeping up behind a bar for Avery_.   _No dealing illegal potions for Avery_.

Severus looks at the dirt on the floor, and the dust on the dado rail, and doesn't pause to take his boots off.  The living room floor is strewn with newspapers and magazines and empty packets, and every flat surface is covered with smudged drinking glasses.  He follows Avery through to the kitchen, where the worktop is littered with dirty plates and used forks.

"Drink?"

 _Not if it's out of a glass_.  

"Any bottles of beer?"

Avery opens the fridge, which emits a strange smell, causing Severus to recoil.  "Butterbeer Extra," he offers. "It's a bit sweet, but it's got much more of a kick to it than what you get in Hogsmeade.  8%, I think."

Severus nods his gratitude, and as he follows Avery back to the living room, he rubs the cap on his robes before prising it off, and then rubs the mouth of the bottle against his sleeve.  "Cheers."

"So what do you want to do?" Avery asks, swiping rubbish from the sofa and onto the floor so the two of them can sit down.

"Thought you said Mulc was coming over?"

Avery shrugs.  "Mulc promises a lot of things.  He's probably with Rosier, and forgotten about me."  He taps the side of his bottle.  "...I'm glad you're back with us, Snape."

"Yeah."

"I'm serious," Avery says, more insistently.  "Reggie and Mulc reckoned you'd never come back to the right way of thinking, not whilst you were balls deep in that Mudblood."

It takes all of Severus' effort not to wince - at the crudeness, and the slur.  "Yeah?"

"They're not like us."

"...who isn't?"

"Ros and Mulc and Reggie," Avery explains.  "They don't understand.  Especially not Reggie with his pretty boy looks."  He takes another angry swig of his drink.  "Face like mine - face like yours!  No offence, Snape."

"None taken."

"I'd have banged her as well.  She was hot.  ...for a Mudblood."  He nudges Severus with his elbow.  "Bet you had some right fun with her."

"Yeah."

"Bet you got her to do stuff that Purebloods wouldn't, right?"

"Of course," he says, airily.

"Course you did," Avery laughs nastily.  "Else you wouldn't have stayed with her."  He leans his head back.  "Fucking hell, that's brilliant.  ...you know Potter wanted her, don't you?"

"Yeah," Severus grins.  "That made it all the more satisfying."

"He'd have even married her, probably."

"Yeah."

"And you were just humiliating her.  Using her.  And stupid Potter would've married her.  He's a disgrace to Purebloods."

"Yeah."  

Avery looks triumphant.  "They all want a bit of the snake house, those Gryffindors."

"Yeah."

"And the Mudbloods.  They want it too.  They're all craving someone purer.  Someone worthier."

"Yeah."

Avery swigs his drink.  "Go on then.  How did you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Get her interested in you in the first place?"

_I'm her very best friend._

"Who says I did anything?  Maybe she just wanted a taste of a bad boy."

"Be serious, Snape.  Did you slip her something?"

"To get her to date me?"

"Yeah, like, a potion or something?"  Avery leans forward eagerly.  "Can I get in on that?"

"The only thing I slipped her was my dick," Severus says, leaning back on the sofa.  "No love potions."

"Fuck."  Avery looks disappointed.  "Oh well, at least there's Knockturn.  It's better now you're coming along with me more often.  Looks less obvious when you walk down the alley in a two.  The others don't ever want to come.  Don't need to," he spits, bitterly.    

"They're all right with me being back then?" Severus asks, cautiously.  "Reggie and Ros and Mulc?"

"They will be," Avery says.  "Once you've settled back in properly."

"But you're all right with me?"

Avery nods.  "Course I am.  They don't know you like I do.  I knew you'd come back to us.  I've seen you, when we'd get in those brawls, in amongst those marching."  He gives Severus a gleeful grin.  "Remember when you slashed that guy, that big Muggle-"

"That was a long time ago."

"Not that long."  Avery takes another slug of his drink.  "Do you still carry it?"

"Carry what?"

"The knife you used to slice him up.  You did Reggie's brother with it, didn't you?"

He shakes his head.  "No."

"Thought you'd got a taste for it."

"It wasn't a knife on Black," Severus explains.  "It was magic.  I used a knife on the Muggle, but it was confiscated when I was arrested."  

"If you had a magic slicing spell, then why didn't you use that on the Muggle?"  Avery's eyes narrow.  "Doesn't it work the same on them?"

Severus turns his drink over in his hands.  "I thought I'd get caught under the statute if I used magic on the Muggle," he explains, "but it was stupid."  He takes an angry swig from his bottle.  "I wasn't underage, and my wandwork is quick.  Really stupid.  They'd never have caught me if I'd used magic."

"Should've Disapparated like I did," Avery laughs.

"Yeah."

"Or disillusioned the knife at least."

"I was trying not to use magic, remember?"

"Oh, yeah.  You should've."

Severus sighs.  "I know that now."

"Heard Malfoy had to buy you a Muggle suit."

"Yeah."

"For the Muggle court case."

"Yeah."

"Did he go with you?"

"No," Severus lies.  "Went alone."

"Didn't think he would," Avery says, swigging his drink again.  "Can't imagine Malfoy around Muggles."

"No."

"I would've gone with you."

Severus raises an eyebrow.  "Yeah?"

"Got to stick together, right?"

 _Like you stuck by me when you Disapparated and left me to be handcuffed by those three police constables_ , Severus thinks.  

"Yeah.  Thanks, Ave.  I'll remember that for the next time I'm dragged up in a Muggle courtroom."

There's a moment of silence, and then Avery turns to look at him.  "...Snape?"

"What?"

"Would you show me?"

Severus frowns.  "Show you what?"

"The spell you used to slash up Black."

"Nah," Severus says, draining his bottle of Butterbeer.  He stands, and shakes it. "Mind if I have another?"

"Not if you get me one," Avery says, tossing his own empty bottle on the floor.

When Severus returns, a fresh bottle in each hand, Avery is leaning back on the sofa.  "Thanks."

"Thank yourself," Severus smiles, as they remove the caps, and clink the bottles together, "it's your booze."

Avery takes a long drink.  "Snape?"

"What?"

Avery leans forward, his elbows on his knees.  "Why not?"

"Why not what?"

"Why won't you show me that knife spell?"

Snape toys with the label on the bottle, peeling the edge of the paper from the glass.  "It's dark, Ave."

Avery sniggers.  "Yeah, and so what?  That's what we are.   _Dark_."

Despite himself, Severus laughs.  "Oh yeah?  How dark are you then, Ave?"

"You really want to know?"

"Wouldn't have asked otherwise," Severus says.

"Avada'd someone."

He stops then, his bottle halfway to his lips.  " _You_ did?"

"Yeah," Avery smiles.  "Didn't think I had it in me, right?"

 _Hoped you didn't_ , Severus thinks, but he simply shakes his head.  

"I've seen you fighting," Severus says, quietly.  "I knew you had the will.  The mental strength."  He pauses, almost not wanting to hear the answer to the question he's about to pose.  "...done anything else?"

"An Avada isn't enough?"

"Feels like the tip of the iceberg," he says, quietly.  "I think you're capable of so much more, Ave."

"I knew you'd believe in me," Avery says, his grin growing wider, and his arms moving in a more animated fashion.  "That's the problem with Mulc and Ros and even Reggie, you know?  They don't think I can do things.  But you, Snape, you're different.  You get me."  He claps Severus on the back.  "We're the same."

"The same," Severus says, raising his bottle in celebration.

They sit quietly for a few minutes, and there's a strange look on Avery's face that Severus can't quite reconcile - and then Avery leans forwards and puts down his bottle.  "Snape?"

"What?"

"Got something to show you," Avery says.

"It's not your dick, is it?"

"You're not at Malfoy's now," Avery laughs, pulling his sleeve up.  "Look."

On his forearm was an intricate marking - the skin was raised but the etching was pale pink, not dissimilar in appearance to the fingernail trails Lily had scratched into his chest a few nights earlier.

"Pretty cool," Severus says, nodding his approval.  "Not sure I'd have got it in pink though."

"It's not a tattoo," Avery says, his finger lightly tracing the mark.  "It's a brand."

"Like livestock?"

"...I don't get it."

"Livestock.  Animals.  Farmers brand their cattle, or their sheep, so they know who owns what."

Avery mulls on this for a moment, but then shakes his head.  "It's not about being owned.  We're all as one."

"No?"

"It's about being accepted.  Part of something.  A leader of others."  

"And your little leadership gang thought pale pink was the best colour to signify that?"

Avery huffs.  "It's not pink, it's skin.  It's red most of the time.  It's faint at the moment because it's not active."

"Not active?"

"We can communicate through them.  Sometimes it's black.  Cool, yes?"  He holds his arm closer to Severus' face.  "Can't you tell what it is?"

Severus puts his bottle down on the floor, and grips Avery's wrist, twisting his arm so he can see it clearly, and then his heart jolts as he realises what the image is - he's staring at the insignia which haunts the magical world when it hangs in the air, signifying that an atrocity has taken place in the spot below.  "That's the Dark Lord's symbol."

"Yeah!"

"... _he_ brands you?  The Dark Lord?"

"He accepts us.  Trusts us to enact his vision," Avery says, proudly.  "And if he can see the dark in me, he'll see the dark in you too, brother."


	55. My shield

It's boring, Cokeworth.  It had always been boring when she was growing up, but at least back then she had lots of distractions - Petunia, and Muggle school, and after school swimming lessons, and choir practice, and netball, and even those difficult few months where she decided she wanted to learn how to play the piano, even though she never quite got further than the basic chords.  Recorder, on the other hand, she had excelled at - or, at least, she did until Petunia teased her mercilessly.

_"And who famous plays a recorder these days?  Do you think you're going to get on Top of the Pops with a rendition of Greensleeves?"_

The nasty comment had been enough to make her cease playing altogether, the wooden instrument subsequently hidden below her winter woollens at the back of her wardrobe, and whenever her parents commented on its absence, she simply shrugged.   _"I grew out of it.  Playing the recorder's for little kids."_

Thankfully, the disdainful Petunia was eventually replaced by ever-excitable Severus - and suddenly those dull days were anything but, filled with make-believe adventures on the park, and hunting for creatures down by the river, their hushed conversations filled with dreams of a magical world far away.  

As it turned out, their pretend world had been far superior to the magical reality they were confronted with; Lily maligned within their world for her family background, and - as she's slowly been realising the extent of what transpired during their schooldays - Severus being bullied mercilessly throughout Hogwarts, propelling him closer to both those with power, and those with distasteful political views.

She idly wishes, at times, that their version of the magical world had been attainable.  She thinks of the magic that thrums through the pair of them, she thinks of how others have desired that within them both - and she thinks of the skill that they've both demonstrated, particularly with his brewing and her charms, and she remembers how he used to shout about him being _someone_ , someone big and powerful and - her heart almost clenches - _feared_.  

Her desires hadn't quite aligned with his.  She'd wanted to be Minister for Magic, or a member of the Ministry at the very least, operating within the bounds of authority, but able to create the laws.  To be kind and fair and just and sincere. She'd asked him - shouted at him, really, as they were both racing through the air on the swings at the time - why he didn't want to be Minister himself, why he couldn't gain his power that way, through the appropriate channels.  

 _"You could be Head of the Auror office,"_ she'd offered.

_"When yer the Minister?"_

_"Yeah."_

_"Won't happen."_ And then he'd twisted to give her that crooked smile, the one where his eyes would crinkle - the genuine one that she so loved.   _"I'll be dead by then."_

_"Sev!"_

_"Or in Azkaban.  Or Strangeways maybe,"_ he'd added, emphatically.   _"But yer should definitely be Minister.  I'd vote for yer."_ And then he'd laughed - a hearty, joyous laugh, and had flung himself from the swing, his arms flailing as he sailed through the air.

She can't help but wonder, especially in these long days of nothing, what made him so jaded back then - what had made him so adamant that he would never have the opportunities that she simply assumed would come her way?  She wasn't sure what was worse - the fact that she truly believed that the world would be just and fair, only to discover it wasn't, or Severus' deeply ingrained cynicism, setting him on a darker, more difficult path from a very early age.  

 _At least he knew_ , she thinks.   _Is it easier not to have your hopes and dreams dashed?  Easier to set your sights elsewhere - to have different, achievable goals, instead of aiming for the moon and then realising you were only given a handcart instead of a rocket ship?_

He's not like that when they're together now.  Not these days. He's no longer cynical.  He's the little kid she knew was desperate to claw his way out of his dour exterior.  She sees their similarities then - she sees that spark of talent and enthusiasm, she sees him poring over his books, and she recognises herself within him.  She's certain that's why he was so taken with her - she wasn't just another magical person in the vicinity, as Petunia liked to spitefully suggest, telling her that if there had been another magical child - a boy, perhaps, or someone taller, or someone with fewer freckles - he'd have chosen them instead.  

But, as she spent more and more time with the strange boy from over the river, she realised that they had more in common than just the magic pulsing through their veins.  She's always known, deep down, that he wanted her - she's seen the way his eyes light up when she speaks, his expression when she touches him, and although she's always known, she's found herself realising, in these days of separation, that she craves him just as much as he wants her.

Their natural alignment scares her, sometimes.  She thinks of how easy it is - how easy it was! - to simply secrete themselves away from the rest of the planet, her and Severus against the world, living quietly amongst their books and spells.  They'd almost achieved it at Hogwarts, in those first few weeks of silently living in the castle, hidden away from almost all others.  The bonus was the addition of Slughorn - being tutored by him after being unceremoniously dropped from the Ministry was as if someone had opened the curtains, and filled her life with light.  It gave her something to leap out of bed for; not just learning for its own sake, but learning with a purpose - with goals, and exams, and real achievements.

And yet the pair of them had messed their golden opportunity up.  She cups her slight bump, the skittering pulse of Bean's magic flickering against her hand, and she tries not to feel regretful.  A little more care - a potion or a tablet or a charm - and she'd still be at Hogwarts with Severus, side-by-side, hand-in-hand, ready to fight the war together.  She'd be brewing alongside Slughorn, instead of being cramped over a cauldron set on the dresser, vials and ingredients lining her bookcase, flanked oddly by childish stories and finger marked trophies of long forgotten achievements.

She tries not to dwell upon what was lost, and instead fantasises about what her and Severus' house might be like, if they did manage to disappear from the rest of the world.  She, and Severus, and Bean, all hidden away in an untouched part of Britain - their bookcases full to bursting with thick tomes of magical theory, an experimental laboratory with enough space for the two of them to work side-by-side in the basement, and a spare bedroom where she can practice her charmwork, and he can craft his spells.  

The longer she spends in Cokeworth, the more she daydreams about it - the more she thinks about being in the wilderness of British countryside, a carefully constructed cottage to house her and her family.  She thinks about being upstairs, the evening sunlight fading, the sun having dipped low behind the trees over the horizon, but her being so focused upon weaving spells to improve the magical world, she hasn't thought to close the curtains and light the wall lamps.  And then, just as she's about to cast once more, her work being interrupted by the clatter of tiny footsteps on the stairs, and a small face peering around the door. 

_"Daddy says tea'll be ready in five minutes.  Are you ready to come down, or does he need to put a warming charm on it?"_

Bean.  Their Bean.  She cups her bump again - thinking of their child in this way, even in an abstract fantasy, where their child is neither male nor female, makes it feel more real, and suddenly, she feels a shard of guilt piercing her.  She wants their child, no matter the sacrifices - no matter the brewing in a bedroom, no matter the war, no matter the long days in Cokeworth.

She doesn't even know if Severus wants to be Daddy or Dad or Da or Pa - it's another part of their relationship that she's not had chance to discuss with him.  Their weekends together are precious, and without opportunity to be close to him during the week, she's the instigator more often than not of pulling him into bed, wanting her partner to hold her tightly - wanting Bean to know that despite the disapproving glances from the neighbours which upset her so, their father - their Daddy or their Da or their Da or their Pa - is very much part of their life.

She thinks back to her time in the Weasley household; of Molly and Arthur's tight relationship, and their band of children roaming around the house and surrounding gardens.  She isn't convinced that she quite wants that - doesn't want to be the mother tied to the house and the children, or to the boring domestic chores.  Nor does she want to condemn her future husband to a low-level rung in the Ministry, slogging away to provide for her and his brood.  It's difficult for her to be sure, especially now, with Severus' thoughts locked away behind his rigid Occlumency shields, but she doesn't think that's his idea of a dream life either.

But as she sits in the waiting room at the hospital, her back ramrod straight, and her chin held high, she can't deny that she wishes she was anywhere but here.  All heads had turned, of course.  Not when she'd taken a seat in the sterile surrounds, but when the receptionist had read her name from the clipboard, an eyebrow aloft.  

 _Miss Evans_.

Scandalous.

She refuses to think of Bean as a scandal.  Refuses to think of her love with Severus as something less than worthy, despite the stares and the coughs and the frowns of those around her.  Her age was a factor in their disapproval, of that she was sure, but her lack of a ring was worse. She half wishes that she'd taken Severus up on his hasty offer - half wishes that she hadn't pushed him to secrete the ring back into his pocket, all because of silly hopes and dreams, all because she was hoping for a romantic moment that could've been lifted from a trashy paperback romance - the likes of which her grandmother favoured in her later years.  Her grandmother would approve of such actions, at least, even if Lily was ruing her decision now.

* * *

Severus shrugs when she tells him, his long legs stretched out on her bed.  "Use it then," he says.  "The ring, my name, whatever you need."

"I can't-"

"You can do anything you want," he says, dismissively.  "What are they going to do? Just change the paperwork.  Quick wave of your wand will do the trick."  He gives her a dark grin.  "Obliviate them if you must."

"Sev, I can hardly do magic when-"

He doesn't let her continue, pulling her down into a heated kiss.  His fingers settle at the back of her neck, holding her fast, and she feels him smiling against his lips.  "Mrs Snape," he whispers.  "I like it."

"You don't like it," she whispers back, "you've always said you hated your dad's name."

"I like you having it," he murmurs.  "Severus Snape and Lily Snape and Bean Snape-"

"Bean Snape?"

He kisses her more insistently.  "Do it Lil.  Marry me."

"I don't want to marry you-"

"Wound a man, Lil."

She reaches for his hand, and grips it, trying to reassure him.  "I do want to marry you, idiot."

"Well, that's a better answer," he concedes, "but if you could accept my proposal without throwing abuse at me, then-"

"-I was explaining that I don't want to marry you just because that's what society expects."

"That's your reason?"

Lily nods.  "You know it is."

"So if that's your reason why you don't want to marry me…"  He gives her a mischievous grin.  "...why _do_ you want to marry me then, Miss Evans?"

And then she laughs.  "That's obvious, Sev."

"Tell me."  He swipes his nose against hers, and nuzzles her cheek.  "Go on, Lil. Undo the damage to my ego.  Is it my wonderful personality, or my devastating good looks?"

"...I'm in love with you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

His smile is radiant, and infectious, causing her to beam back at him.  "Then those are the only reasons we need."

"We agreed-"

"Marry me, Lil."

"But they'll think-"

"I don't care what they think," he says, turning them both over until she's pinned beneath him.  "If we don't get married…"

"Yes?"

"...Bean won't have my name."

She gently bites at his lip, causing him to groan, and he places his hand over their growing child.  He smiles as he feels the now familiar pulse of magic emanating from her, and she kisses him deeply.  "Bean will have your name, Sev," she promises, "whatever happens."

"Whatever happens?  You're rejecting me again, aren't you, witch?"

Lily smoothly hooks her leg around his hip, pulling his crotch to meet hers, and he huffs a loud breath, trying to fight the look of satisfaction that he knows is spreading across his face at the feel of her around him.

"Does this seem like a rejection?" she says, grinding against him, and her hands reaching to fumble with the zip on his trousers.  "Or does this feel like I love you?"

He's not stupid.  There's a time for arguing, and this isn't it.

* * *

"Just wear it," he says, after, tossing the ring box towards her.  

_Does he carry it with him permanently?_

"But we said we were going to wait and do it properly."

"I'm not saying this is the proposal," he hisses, buttoning his shirt up and pulling his long hair from beneath his collar.  He stands, and peers at the forgotten line of vials she's prepared, "but I don't want you being treated like a scarlet woman."  He glances over his shoulder at her, his eyes narrowed.  "I know what those Muggles are like."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

He pauses, and straightens, and then slowly turns to look at her.  "...you said they were disapproving," he says, quietly.  "I'm merely agreeing."

Her gaze hardens.  "Agreeing with me, or agreeing with Avery?"

He scoffs, and turns back to her potions.  "Are you going to talk me through these, or not?"

"Or Nott's right," she says, icily.  "Or Mulciber.  Or Malfoy, with their ridiculous views on-"

"Bloody hell, Lil, can you give it a rest?"  He shakes his head, as if trying to dislodge a persistent fly from buzzing around his ear.  "You know I don't pay attention to any of their nonsense.  That ring is _yours_ ," he says, emphatically.  "It's yours in three years time, when we finally get around to that proposal we've both been dreaming about.  It's yours in thirty years time, when we're welcoming our first grandchild into the family, and in one hundred and thirteen years when they drop me into the ground, ashes to ashes, and you're still standing-"

"Sev!"  

"But more importantly, it's yours right now, when you _need_ it.  And you do need it, Lily.  It's a shield - _my_ shield - to protect you and Bean from the nosey-parkers and battle-axes and do-gooders who have nothing better to do than to pry into our private business - who want to label my child, and who want to disparage the woman I love."  

He twists so he's facing her, and she sees the raw pain in his face, and she suddenly thinks better of the retort that's on the tip of her tongue.   _This isn't him hating Muggles_ , she reminds herself, _this is him protecting you_.  

And somehow, looking at the fury in his thin features, his lithe limbs quivering with barely suppressed rage, and she can't help but be reassured, despite the awful company he's being forced to keep.  

 _This is still Severus_ , she thinks.   _He's done this before and it didn't change him.  He knows what he's doing_.

* * *

Despite his words to the contrary, she knows his mood is changing - she can sense it when they're together.  His eyes seem darker, but she puts it down to his Occlumency, and although she feels comforted when he presses himself up against her in her bed, his fingers gently resting against the skin where their child is growing, she can tell that he's jealous.

"I'm not," he'd muttered when she'd argued the point with him earlier - but even without Legilimency, she knew he was lying.  

_He'll need to work on that if he's going to carry on working for Dumbledore._

"Muggle hospitals don't let fathers in for scans," she'd patiently explained.  "Even if you hadn't been at Hogwarts, you couldn't have been there.  They'd have made you sit outside."

He hadn't replied.  He'd sat quietly for a while, pretending to be engrossed in a book that she knows he's read twenty times or more already, and then talked about having a shower.  He'd left the room for what felt like an eternity, so she'd given up waiting for him to come out of his sulk and was already in bed when he returned. 

He lifts the covers, and immediately sought her body for comfort.  Despite her irritation, she relaxes into his touch, even though his skin is clammy from where he hasn't quite dried himself properly.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice low.  "I just wanted to see Bean as well."

"I know."

"...they didn't tell you if Bean was a boy or a girl, did they?"

"No."

She feels his breath against her neck as he exhales.  "What's Bean look like, then?"

"Hard to tell," she chuckles, pushing herself against him.  "A head.  Tiny feet and knees."

His hand skirts over her stomach.  "Tiny feet and knees?"

She places her hands over his, and then she twists to kiss his lips.  "Half you," she says. "That's all you need to remember.  Our baby Bean is half you."

* * *

The weekend is over too quickly.  It feels as if she spends her life counting down the hours from when she sees him to when he departs, and as the evening draws to a close, she finds herself unwilling to stop touching him - as if letting him go is an admission that he's about to walk out of the door.

She appraises him, wondering about the stress that he's under - the things he's not telling her.  He seems to wind the clock back when he's with her - the creases around his eyes are less pronounced on a Sunday night compared to a Friday evening when he's pounding at the door.  She doesn't comment on the change in him, but just kisses the bridge of his hooked nose; he hadn't taken too well to her fussing when he'd first appeared, his hair greasy and his face unshaven - although he had seemingly taken the hint that she was less than enamoured with his appearance, and he had quickly retreated to the bathroom to wash and shave and change his clothes from his well worn robes into the ones in his rucksack.

Was that stress as well?  Or laziness, now that she wasn't around - now that she wasn't living with him, now that there was no sex on tap, he has no reason to fall into bed with clean skin and smelling fresh?  

She wants to berate him for that, but there's a small part of her that's peevishly pleased; if he's behaving like that, he can't have replaced her.  Still, not for the first time, she finds herself wishing that she could find a way into the castle, find a way to lie in their bed once more with him, to force him to take care of himself.  

If she's truthful, it isn't just about Severus looking after himself, but also the idea of being able to surround herself with magic once more - to be able to brew within Hogwarts, to access the library, even send messages about magical theory to Slughorn.  Instead, she listens as Severus excitedly talks through the potions that she's brewed.  Quietly, she is proud of what she's achieved, in these most Muggle of surrounds, and it's intoxicating to see his utter delight reinforcing her own feelings. _If he thinks this is excellent_ , she thinks, _then it must be._ Yet, she's far more modest when she talks with him.

"Supposedly," she corrects, when he enthuses about the idea of Polyjuice lasting longer.  "It's all theory.  I'm hardly in a fit state to test."

"I can though," he says, tipping the capped vial over in his hand.

"Not now," she warns.  "What if it lasts longer than we think?  You've got to be you for tomorrow.  For Sluggy."

"I could call in sick.  Stay here."  His smile is sinful.  "Could spend a bit of time getting to know you better."

"Don't tempt me," she says, pecking his lips.  "As much as I want you here, there's no point in arousing Slughorn's suspicions."  She pauses, wondering whether to raise the issue, before forging ahead.  "Besides, I thought you might prefer to be someone else when you tested it."

"Someone else?"  

"Not me."

He raises an eyebrow.  "Not you?"

"Lucius, maybe?" she offers, quietly.  "You're around him enough to be able to get a hair."

"He'd kill me."

"He doesn't have to know."

Severus looks away.  "I don't know."

"It's better than being me," she says, placing her hand on his upper arm.  "I know how it troubles you."

"...I've got to do it at some point," he says, but the reluctance in his voice is clear.  " _You_ ," he says, "are going to have to turn up at an Order meeting."

"You've got some studying to do then."

"Studying?"

Lily laughs at his grave look.  "That's what I'm talking about.  That dark glare you give whenever someone says anything you disagree with.  ...I don't do that."

He scoffs.  "Yeah?  You'd be surprised at how your furious facial expressions can wound."  He tugs at his shirt.  "I think I've still got the scars under here."

"Don't start."

"Don't start what?" he laughs, pulling her closer to him.  "You think I don't know you, witch?"

"I didn't say that."

"No?  Sounded like it."

"I'm just saying," she says, resting her cheek against his chest, "that you need to practice being me."

"I will," he says, abruptly letting go of her, and walking to the bedroom door.  She thinks that's it - his start of his goodbye, shutting his emotions down and pulling away from her, and then suddenly he turns.  This is when she usually runs towards him, embracing him one last time, but this time, she's rooted to the spot.   _I don't want you to go_ , she thinks.   _This weekend wasn't enough - not for either of us,_ and then he surprises her, setting his back against the door, and pushing, ensuring that the latch has caught.  Then he slowly slides down the wood until he's sat on the floor.

"Sev?  I thought you were going."

"I'll go in the morning.  You're right, I think I need to do some vital studying," he says, playfully.  "I think it'll be easier if I watch you closely."

"Watch me do what?"

He tries - but fails - to suppress a smile.  "Touch yourself."

"Sev, my parents are downstairs-"

"-and I'm pressed against the door," he reminds her.  He holds his wand aloft.  "I can repel anyone from entering."  His eyes darken, and his heated gaze makes her feel more excited than she wants him to know.  "Go on, love," he murmurs, dropping his left hand to his trousers and deftly unsnapping the button, and sliding down the zip, his hand settling on his crotch.  "Strip for me, and I'll join you."

"...you just read my mind."

"Complaining?"

She takes a deep breath, wondering how she feels about the intrusion - and then she catches sight of the Muggle alarm clock on the side, realising that if she pushes him away now, he'll leave and return to Hogwarts - and she catches the closed look on his face, impossible to read once more, but she _knows_ Severus, she _knows_ that he's on the cusp of feeling rejected, unwanted, and although half of her wants to berate him, she pulls her t-shirt over her head, revealing herself to him - and as he gives a gasp, there's a happiness that spreads through her, the thrill in his eyes evident.   _Occlumency can't hide that_ , she thinks, triumphantly.

* * *

She knows he's going to shout when he discovers what she's done, but she's so bored, she can't help but take the risk.  It wasn't as if she did it without testing it on a number of other objects first, but even so, the wand in her hand shook a little as she cast the concealing charm at her midriff.  She immediately presses her hand to Bean, and there was the usual heartbeat of magic, which reassures her.

She's read a lot - and isn't sure how he smuggled half of these books from Hogwarts and into her possession - and although Polyjuice is out, plenty of other magical actions are still within grasp, from brewing, to spell crafting, even to transportation using Floo powder and Apparition.  Apparition was what had really surprised her; she was certain that was going to be prohibited, and her delight to discover that it wasn't - her delight to realise that she could step foot in the magical world once more, even if her face needed to be disguised, it made her heart sing.

* * *

"I'm not angry," he complains, although the tone of his voice suggests otherwise.  "I'm just asking, what's the practical purpose of this?"  The rest of his thought is evident, even though he leaves it unsaid:   _You're safe here.  Why would you leave?_

"I'm bored."

"Bored is a good reason, is it?"  He runs his hands through his hair and groans.  "I thought I'd done enough."

"You've been great, Sev," she says, quickly reassuring him, "but there's more to life than being locked in a bedroom, brewing a few potions here and there.  ...you're never here, you know?"

"I make sure I'm here every weekend," he argues.  "Even though that takes some explaining, I can tell you."

"Explaining to who?"

"...Dumbledore's asked me to dig a little deeper."

She already knew his answer before she asked the question, but somehow, hearing him say the words, it's so much worse.  When she speaks, her voice is almost trapped in her throat.  "Deeper how?  Deeper than Avery and Mulciber?"

"Yes."

"...you mean, spy for him?  Sev-"

"You're a fine one to talk," he argues.  "What about you and Vance?"

"That was different."

"Course it was."

She shoots him an exasperated glare.  "Lucius trapped me," she reminds him, "and you trust his decision making, don't you?"

"...yes," he says, eventually.

"Well then.  And I only want to see one person.  ...Narcissa."

"Narcissa?"  He looks unconvinced.

She powers on before he can argue.  "Yes.  She's pregnant too."

He gives her a sharp look.  "You can't tell her about Bean."

"I won't," she says, not missing the fact that he hasn't protested, hasn't outright forbidden her to meet with his old friend.  "But if I offer her a friendly ear, she might be able to share some secrets with me - tell me things about magical pregnancy that I can't get elsewhere.  And remember, Sev, she offered me papers.  I need to talk to her about it."

There's a very long pause, and she's almost transfixed by his bouncing knee; she's certain he's not doing it deliberately - it's an ingrained reaction to a stressful decision.

"Right," he says, finally.  "Narcissa.  Just Narcissa." He glances up.  "You want me to set a date, or-"

"I'll reach out to her," she says, firmly.  "I want this to be Lily approaching Narcissa, not me-as-Severus'-girlfriend."

"They accept you because you're my girlfriend," he warns, as if she doesn't already know the truth - as if she believes that the Malfoys would welcome a Mudblood into their abode if they didn't already adore Severus.

"But she's more than Lucius' wife," she explains.  "And that's how the dynamic works between you all, isn't it?"

"No," he grumbles, quietly.  "I like Narcissa for Narcissa.  It's not because she's with Lucius."

"I think you'd be surprised if you asked Narcissa how she feels," Lily says, sitting next to him, and seeking his hand.  "I know she likes you," she says, trying not to let jealousy build within her, "but does she know that you like her?"

He doesn't answer, just toys with her hand, his long fingers twisting within hers, and then he reaches over and kisses her.  "Go and see Narcissa," he says, "but for Merlin's sake, be careful."

"Thank you," she breathes, relieved at his acceptance.  "And you too."

"Me?  With what?"

"With whatever Dumbledore's getting you to do," she says.

He gives her a wry smile.  "Nice try, Lil, but it's better you don't know."  He gives her a sad look and slides a piece of hair behind her ear, trailing his fingers down her soft cheek.

"I can feel it," she says, touching his face.  "You're changing.  You're...darker."

"I can control it," he assures her, tipping her face and then kissing her deeply.  

She pulls away after a moment, and murmurs in his ear.  "Just don't go believing what they're saying.  You're better than they are."

"I'm not," he chuckles.

"You're not like them," she reminds him.

"I…"  He trails off, dismissing whatever he's about to say, and swerving onto a different topic instead.  "I'm yours, Lil."

It's not a convincing switch of topic; she's dying to know what his admission was about to be, but she stalls, not wanting to probe where he doesn't want her to tread, and equally relieved that the importance of their partnership is what he falls back on.  Her voice is gentle when she asks, "And knowing that is what keeps you grounded?"

"Yes," he whispers.

"Then whatever he has you doing, _know_ that you're mine, Severus Snape."


	56. Serpent bearer

It starts with Mondays, and then Wednesdays, and then before she knows it, she's racing home on a Friday, hoping to return to Cokeworth before Severus arrives at her parents' doorstep.  It's laughable, when she stops and thinks about it - an alliance between herself and a Pureblood; a Pureblood married to another Pureblood, no less, both of whom hold abhorrent views - of that, Lily has no doubt - and yet, Narcissa welcomes her into their home as if she had grown up alongside them, as if her blood was as pure as their own.

She'd never quite understood their acceptance of Severus - how he, as an impoverished half-Muggle, came to be held in such regard by the pair of them, but as the days ticked on, it started to dawn upon her; the Malfoys lived by different rules.  There was a confidence to them, an arrogance of birthright which permitted them to be belligerent. Rules were for the rest of society, so whilst it was reasonable to preach that blood was sacred, and Mudbloods should not be welcomed into the magical world, there was an internal justification within them that if anyone were to break such a rule, it should be themselves - they, and they alone, were worthy of making such judgement calls, of deciding the exceptions.

Lily couldn't accurately judge its effectiveness as a policy - whether the Malfoys were able to hold such views and remain admired in society - for nobody in wider society knew the depth of their friendship.  Indeed, she was certain that if the truth were to spill out, they'd disown her sooner than accept the inevitable shame that she would cast across their family.

It was a strange friendship, one built upon lies and half truths.  Although she was incredibly aware of how deep the Malfoy and Snape loyalties lay, even though she was at the Manor three times a week, she never once saw him; never even heard his name uttered by a passing house elf, or a grumbling portrait - but she knew he must've passed through the manor, knew he must've had some involvement with Lucius.  It made her heart clench, at times, to think that he might be sat in Lucius' study, nursing a firewhisky and discussing the woes of the wizarding world all whilst she was sat several rooms away, in a luxurious room with Narcissa, cooing over baby clothes and adornments for the nursery.

Narcissa and Lucius had no idea about Bean, of that she was certain.  They thought she was at Hogwarts still - so she had to be careful; had to make sure she didn't arrive too early, when Slughorn wouldn't have released her from her studies - and she knew that the increased frequency of her visits were fraught with danger.  She knew that it would only take one double sighting - of a comment made of her being at Hogwarts whilst she was actually with Narcissa, and Lucius would be on to them, and his curiosity would be piqued as to why Severus was studying under Slughorn and she was drinking tea with Narcissa - but there was something wonderful about Malfoy Manor, something intoxicating about the magic seeping through the walls, and even more joyously, something exhilarating about Narcissa's excitement about her impending child.

* * *

"Have you chosen names yet?" Lily asks, taking the offered seat in the parlour and accepting a cup of tea from a house elf.

"Adhara," Narcissa says, settling herself down opposite, "if the baby is a girl."  She gives a tight smile.  "Lucius is rather set on Ophiuchus if we have a boy."

"Serpent bearer," Lily smiles.  "He would have a hard time if he was sorted anywhere other than Slytherin."

Narcissa raises an eyebrow.  "All Blacks, our dear Sirius aside, have been in Slytherin for the past three centuries," she says, smoothly.  "And the Malfoy family have been in Slytherin for far longer - five, or six, I believe."

"Not a concern then."

"No," Narcissa says, and then her voice softens, "but I do think it's rather difficult to pronounce.  Ophiuchus.  I can't even begin to imagine how you'd shorten it."  She gives Lily a piercing look.  "I do wish for him to have friends."

"Children will find a way," she says, reassuringly.  "Or they could take a leaf out of Severus' book, and use his surname.  Call him Malf."

"Speaking of Severus, he has forgotten his way home," Narcissa says, toying with her drink.  

"He's been busy."

"Indeed.  I cannot recall the last time I saw his face.  Lucius said as much last night."  She looks troubled, and leans in.  "He's taken up with Avery."

"I know."

"And Mulciber."

"Yes."

"...Lucius is not so aligned, you understand?"

She gives a stiff nod, pretending that she does - but she doesn't, not really.  At school and in the Order, the wannabe Death Eaters were all the same; the enemy - and their internal allegiances and alliances meant little.  "What about Sirius' brother?  Does he have some family loyalty to you?"

"Reggie?"  Narcissa sits back a little.  "He should, but that branch of the tree…  It's diseased, you understand?"  She trails off, and Lily feels uncomfortable at the insinuation.  "He's no Sirius," Narcissa continues, "but little Reggie goes where the wind takes him."

* * *

She learns a lot about Narcissa from these visits, and quite a lot - as was her intention - about magical pregnancy.  She learns about a magical nursery rhyme that the Black family always whispered to their newborns, and several useful charms to monitor the baby's movement when the baby is asleep in a crib and the parents are in another room.  She tries not to smile too broadly when Narcissa demonstrates a Muggle repelling charm.

"Babies can have fits of accidental magic," she warns, "and although I am not one to mix in such circles, you realise, if I were to stroll through Muggle Britain…"  She takes a breath, and wrinkles her nose, as if the very idea is an affront, "...then it would be imperative that this charm covered the pram.  Babies want things.  Accio is a very common spell; harder for grown children to master, but babies who are extremely single-minded, babies who _want_ that item with a ferocity rarely paralleled in adulthood…  Well," she says, "they're hard to stop."  She taps her wand briskly.  "This spell does that."

"And fire?"

"Fire?"

Lily gives a small smile.  "I've heard that some babies are a little prone-"

"-you?"  Narcissa asks, but Lily hesitates for a moment too long and Narcissa smiles triumphantly.  "Ah, Severus?"

"...yes."

"His mother couldn't have used the charm," she says, thoughtfully, "else his Muggle father couldn't have ventured near to him."  She laughs.  "He set fire to things?  He always did have a flare for the dramatic, did Severus."

* * *

It gives her a lot to think about, when she's back home, brewing another experimental batch of Polyjuice.  Just like Eileen, she can't use such charms either, lest her parents be forced away from their baby - but the idea of a magical child wreaking havoc in their home isn't wholly desirable either.  Maybe she could explain it to her parents without telling them the full truth, suggest that Bean was fussy and only wanted to be held by Mummy or Daddy and not Granny or Gramps - but it's another thing she hadn't thought of.  It makes her feel somehow inadequate, as if she's not worthy of being a mother - certainly not a mother to a magical being. It's made all the worse when she goes down for her evening meal and is presented with a babygate that her parents had collected earlier in the day from Argos.

"I know you'll want your little one to be able to roam free, but we can't have them toppling down the stairs," Rose warns.  "I almost had a heart attack the day you slipped."

It's something else she hadn't considered, and she feels even more guilty; guilty that her parents are thinking of things that hadn't occurred to her, all whilst she plots to hide her child from them.

 _You're protecting them and Bean,_ she thinks - but it's not a convincing thought, and more than ever, she wants Severus to come home and tell her that everything is going to be all right.

* * *

He does come home, but not on Friday. He descends on Saturday evening, and his visit is short.  He looks unwell - there's dark circles under his eyes, and his cheeks are hollow, but she doesn't want to raise it with him - not after the way he'd snapped at her mother at the dinner table, and then, his face flushing, apologised profusely and offered to wash up the plates in recompense.

He's still sulking now, sat on her bed, toying with his wand.  She knows he's embarrassed, and she knows that he doesn't want to talk about it, but she can't seem to shift his dark mood.  

"How's Avery?" she tries, forcing her tone to be light.

"Fine."

"And Mulciber?"

"What do you care, Lil?" he snaps, twirling his wand over and over.  "They're scum."

"...I was only making conversation."  She shoots him a disgusted look.  "I know you're not happy, Severus, but you don't need to take it out on me."

"I know where I'm not wanted," he says, abruptly.  "I'll see you next week."

"Severus!"

But he's clattered down the stairs, and with a loud bang of the door, he's gone.

* * *

When the house elf summons Narcissa to the drawing room, she's pulling on her silk dressing gown, her hair damp, and her eyebrows arch in surprise.  "Lily."

"I'm not interrupting your rest, am I?"

"No," Narcissa says, taking her by the elbow, and escorting her to the comfortable chairs on the far side of the room.  "What's he done?"

"I'm that obvious, am I?" she says, but although her tone is even, she can feel her lip wobbling.

"Lucius said…"  Narcissa sighs, her hand squeezing Lily's elbow.  "...he's been in some trouble."

It was exactly what she wanted to hear and didn't want to hear in equal measure.  She wanted there to be another explanation for his mood - one that didn't involve her, or Bean, or her parents - but at the same time, the idea of him being in danger makes her freeze.  She could solve anger aimed at her, least, she hoped she could, but anger at someone or something else was far trickier.

"Oh?"

"I can get Lucius," Narcissa offers, standing - and although this is new; the idea of Lucius joining them, and she's still not quite sure how she feels about him, her desire to understand Severus' outburst is stronger - and Lily nods in agreement.

* * *

"What do you know?" Lucius asks briskly, without a hello or a smile, and Narcissa rolls her eyes behind his back.  "Cissy, darling, please don't roll your eyes at me in front of our guests, it's terribly rude."

Narcissa grins widely, and Lily has to suppress a giggle - especially when she sees Lucius soften at Narcissa's mischevous look.

"...I know he's befriended Avery again."

"And Mulciber and Rosier and Reggie?"

She nods, tightly.  "They were a bit of a loose group at school, weren't they?  Before-"

"Yes," Lucius quickly interrupts, and they both know that she was going to cite his party - cite the moment when the boys saw the two of them outside, and they turned on Severus as a consequence.  "And now with you out of the picture and Severus' politics assured once more, the band of merry outlaws has returned."

"So why's he in trouble?  Don't they accept him?" she asks, cautiously.  "Rosier? Mulciber?"  She can't believe that it's Avery; from what little Severus has said, he'd always appeared dull-witted and over-eager to please - she can't imagine that he'd be causing Severus any strife.

"Rodolphus was raided by Magical Law Enforcement earlier this week," Lucius intones.  "We're not...close, he and I," he admits, but he jerks his head towards Narcissa, "but there is a family grapevine."

"He's my sister's husband," Narcissa needlessly explains, as if Lily had somehow managed to be unaware of the marriage of the century, between the Black and Lestrange houses.

"They think Severus is to blame?"

"Bella did," Lucius smirks, "but then, Bella's always been a little unhinged-"

"Lucius, please-"

"What, dear?"  Lucius laughs at his wife's indignant look.  "I don't know why you defend her so."  He turns his attention back to Lily.  "Droma got the unfortunate political allegiances, Cissy here got the brains and the beauty, and Bella…"  He sniffs and pulls himself up to his full height.  "Bella inherited the Black sickness."

"Lucius!"

"Tell me I'm speaking out of turn," he challenges, his voice a little firmer.  "Bella is unhinged, Cissy.  I know she's your sister, but she's...beyond fanatical."  He points at Lily.  "She wouldn't have this, for a start."

"Fine, Lucius," Narcissa interrupts, unwilling to let him explain in transparent terms exactly what her family would think of her associating with a Mudblood.  "I told her she was wrong, Lily.  That Severus was clean."

"But she didn't believe you?"

"Bella doesn't think well of anybody who is associated with me," Lucius interrupts, "her sister included, and most certainly not your Halfblood, Mudblood-loving boyfriend...but Bast is a little more reasonable, and thankfully, has given Severus the benefit of the doubt."

"And what about her husband?  Rodolphus?"

"They both know it's Mundungus Fletcher," Narcissa says.  "Apparently Rabastan cut him out of a profitable deal."

"No apparently about it," Lucius drawls.  "Bella's question was whether Severus was also in on that, but that's Bella's problem, you see."  He taps the side of his head. "She's looking for connections where none exist."

"Bella's point," Narcissa explains, quietly, "is that Rodolphus wasn't part of any such deal.  So it doesn't make sense that Fletcher would shop the wrong brother."

"It makes perfect sense!" Lucius erupts.  "How many times, Cissy?"  He shakes his head, glancing at Lily.  "You follow the logic, do you not?"

"Fletcher won't shop Severus; he's his party potions supplier."

"Yes."

"And Fletcher won't shop Rabastan, because he's part of an expensive trade that he wants to be part of once more."

"...yes."

"But he wants to give the pair of them a scare," Lily explains, thinking it through, "and the best way to do so is to lean on someone close to them.  In this case, Rabastan's brother - Rodolphus.  It makes Rabastan fear that somebody is on to him, and makes him wary of dealing directly with Severus, especially as this has happened just at the moment that they've deviated from their usual routine."

Lucius gives her a dangerous smile.  "He always talks about how clever you are," he says, smoothly.  "He's right."

"Thank you, Lucius," Narcissa says, snippily.

"You're too busy defending Bella to see the woods for the trees," Lucius argues.  "This is Blackmail 101, Cissy."

"Yes, well, the Malfoy family have always been rather more well versed in that than the Black estate," she sniffs, her head held high.

"Cissy, Cissy," he says, placatingly.  "Look, it's late, we're both...tired.  Why don't we retire to my study - all three of us," he says, extending his hand to his wife, "and we can have a pleasant conversation about something else, perhaps?"

* * *

She isn't sure, when she first takes a seat - but she's reassured by the presence of Narcissa, and ever since the night when Severus rescued her, Lucius has been nothing but polite - reserved, even - when in her company.  She finds it hard to relax, despite that, especially as he's now leaning forwards, his elbows on his desk and his chin resting on his hands, quizzing her about her apprenticeship with Slughorn.

"We moved heaven and earth," he says, and she knows it's not quite true - she knows that Lucius only got his way because Albus Dumbledore wanted Severus in his grasp, but she also knows that Lucius himself might not know that, so she forces herself to glance down at the floor instead of permitting him to make eye contact with her.

When she glances up, she skitters a loose thread of Legilimency against him - nothing harsh, barely a whisper, and she can hear his interest in her behaviour; _demure_ , he thinks, and she has to bite back a smile.  Severus would laugh himself sick at the idea of his fiesty girlfriend being labelled as meek and reserved - but for now, it serves her well, so she keeps her head bowed as Lucius bores the two of them with explanations of all the help he's given Severus of late.

"I do apologise," Narcissa whispers, as Lucius departs for the bathroom, "he does rather like the sound of his own voice."

She shares a giggle with Narcissa, and when Lucius walks back in to the two of them smiling, he looks pleased - as if their pleasure was somehow derived from his deliberate actions, and he sits back in his ornate chair, his chin aloft.

"Severus tells me that Slughorn is highly impressed with your work."

"...yes."  It feels like a lie, but at the same time, she doesn't want to contradict whatever story Severus has concocted - and besides, Severus has always been praising of her work when he's inspected it at the week's end.   _Apart from this week_ , she thinks, but then she forces the thought out of her brain.

"I have a question for you," he says, glancing at Narcissa, who nods.  

 _It's interesting_ , she thinks, watching how the two of them interact - seeing that he waited for Narcissa's agreement before inviting her into a secret, and then, when he speaks, she understands why.

"My father," he says, briskly.  "Severus has perhaps told you?"

"...very little."

He nods.  "There is a potion.  Imperatum."

"Yes."

"Father takes it."  Lucius waves his hand.  "For his...nerves."

It's a terrible lie, and they're all aware that she knows it.  Narcissa takes a deep breath, as if she's wondering if Lily will argue the point, but she doesn't.  "I believe it is useful for such maladies," Lily says, instead. 

Lucius smiles, sharing a glance with Narcissa.  

 _They trust me_.

"...it is not quite taking effect," he says, slowly.  "Ordinarily, I would ask Severus, but he's…"

"Otherwise engaged," Narcissa finishes.  "It is not in Severus' interests to be seen in our company."

"Can I see a vial?" she asks, and Lucius yanks open his desk drawer, and passes one to her.

"See it, smell it, drink it for all I care," he says, sniffing.  "There's something amiss, but I cannot place it.  ...I've been procuring this for years."

"Same brewer?"

"Same brewer," he affirms.  Then he shoots her a curious look.  "Could you brew it?"

 _Probably_ , she thinks, but she isn't prepared to.  Brewing Wolfsbane is dangerous enough, but adding Imperatum into the mix would be begging the aurors to take an interest where they shouldn't.  

"Yes," she says, "but the problem isn't with the brew.  This is perfect."

Lucius' shoulders slump slightly.  "I didn't think it was possible to gain immunity to it."

"It isn't," she says, frowning.  "He's taking something else."

Both Lucius and Narcissa sit a little straighter.  "Something's interacting with it?" Narcissa asks, her eyebrows raising.  "Like what?"

"He can't get anything else."  Lucius looks around.  "Not from Cissy, not from me."

"Who else comes here?"

"You," Lucius says, pointing his finger, and only dropping it when Narcissa rolls her eyes.  "Severus.  ...Bella, sometimes?"

Narcissa nods.  "She brought Rabastan to that meal, remember?"

"Occasionally one of the underlings," Lucius sniffs.

"Avery?"

"No," Lucius says, dismissively.  "Rosier.  Yaxley, I don't know if you've met him?"

She shakes her head.  "The base of this is Wiggentree," she says, twisting the vial thoughtfully in her hands.  "Which means that it's something directly opposed to it."

"Bowtruckles?"

Her head snaps up, surprised at Narcissa's insightful comment.  "Yes."

Lucius frowns.  "Bowtruckles?"

"They guard the tree," Narcissa says, fiddling with the cuff of her robe.  "I remember Sluggy teaching it."

"I can't think of a potion which has bowtruckles in it," he says, and Lily nods in agreement.

"Nor me, but it makes sense.  A private commission by your father?"

Lucius purses his lips.  "I need to think on this."  He holds his hand out, and she passes the vial back to him.  "Thank you," he says, his chin tilting upwards. "I...appreciate your insight."  

"Should I ask Severus?"

"Yes," Narcissa immediately replies.

"...if you remind him where his loyalties lie with such knowledge," Lucius adds, quietly.

"He is appreciative of you, Lucius."  Lily glances at Narcissa.  "And of you, Narcissa."

"We know," Narcissa says, standing, and resting a hand on Lucius' shoulder.  "This has been a difficult few weeks for us all."  She offers a watery smile.  "Remember to return to us on Monday, Lily.  And if you happen to see Severus tomorrow-"

"I doubt it," Lily interrupts.

"Well, if you do," Narcissa says, calmly, "do ask his opinion."

* * *

She's wrong.  He does turn up on Sunday, but he doesn't knock at the door like he does normally.  He stands in the garden, the rain lashing against him, and he hurls pebble after pebble up at her window until she realises the cause of the noise and moves towards the glass, her eyes widening when she recognises the dark figure outside.  

She fumbles with the window, and pushes it wide open, leaning out of it into the wild night.  "Sev, what are you doing?"

"Do you want to see me?"

"What sort of stupid question is that?" she yells, her voice full of righteous anger.  "Stay there and I'll let you in-" - but before she can move, he's launched himself at the drainpipe, and shins his way up, heaving himself in through the open window.  "Sev, honestly," she laughs.  "Daddy's told you that you'll pull the drainpipe off the wall doing that."

"Magic'll fix it back on," he mutters, dismissively, peeling off his soaking jumper and t-shirt.

She grabs him a towel from the laundry cupboard, and wraps him in it.  He doesn't thank her, but she can see a slightly blue tinge to his lips, and she rubs the towel more forcefully against his torso, trying desperately to warm him.  "Merlin, Sev, how long were you out there?"

"A bit," he says, looking awkward.

"Doing what?"

"Was watching you," he finally admits.  "I thought you might send me away, so I thought I'd just...get my fill."

"You are such an idiot, Sev," she says, kissing him firmly.  "Lucius told me."

He jerks away.  "Told you what?"

"About Fletcher.  About you."

His eyes narrow.  "When did Lucius tell you that?  Friday?"

"...last night."

He exhales sharply.  "Seeing him, are you?"

"Sev, don't be stupid.  After your little temper tantrum, I went to see Narcissa.  She asked Lucius-"

"Talking about me then."

"Yes!"  She rips the towel away from him, and flings it across the room, where it hits the wall and slides down onto the floor.  "Yes, I was talking about you to your best friend, because you can't be bothered to communicate with your fiancée."

It takes him a minute, but then he spies his ring on her finger, and his eyes widen, and a broad smile stretches across his face.  "You're serious?  We're going to do this?"

"Not if you pull a stupid stunt like this again," she warns, kissing him fiercely.  "You're so prickly of late, Sev.  You need to remember that you can talk to me."

"I'm sorry," he says, quietly, holding her tightly to him.  "I've just had a lot to think through."

"Like what?"

"Dumbledore wants me in with Ave and-"

"Mulciber and Rosier and Reggie," she finishes.

"-yeah," he says.  "But they don't run in the same circles as I would've done."

"As you would've done?  If you hadn't got with me?  ...if you'd followed whatever path Lucius was talking about in your memories?"

"Mmm."

"And these others?  Avery and Mulciber and Rosier and Reggie…  They're...what? Doing worse things than what you would've done?"  She looks at him, her fear evident. "They're hurting people?"

"...something like that," he says, quietly.  

"They want you to hurt someone?"

He doesn't answer, but he holds her in his arms for a long time, savouring her touch, and then, just as she's about to break the silence, he speaks again, his voice shaking.  "They want me to fuck over Malf."


	57. Family

He sits on the edge of her mattress, his feet firmly planted on the floor, and his head between his knees.  She can see him picking at the skin around his nails, and when she spots a thin trail of blood running down his left hand to his wrist, she pulls a tissue from the box on the dresser and gently presses it against his fingers, causing him to jerk his head upwards, his black eyes boring into her.

"I don't need-"

"Shh," she says.  "Enough now."

He doesn't argue, but silently watches as she carefully dabs at his fingers, and then presses a clean tissue to a particularly deep slice, trying to stem the gentle, but persistent, flow of blood.  When it stops, she casts a cleansing charm, and tosses the tissues in the bin on the opposite side of the room.  She moves to sit next to him, her arm loosely resting on his shoulders.  He's tense - there's a fraction of a quiver coming from him; not visible to the naked eye, but she can feel the tremor of his shoulders under her hand.

"Tell me in your own time, Sev," she offers, quietly, but firmly - and although when she says it, she wonders if he'll recoil - if he'll suggest that he can handle it himself, or that it's best she doesn't know - she's gratified to feel him relax beneath her touch; as if she's said exactly what he was hoping to hear.

Not that she'd know otherwise, because he doesn't confide in her.  He picks up a book, and lies on her bed, his legs crossed at his ankles.  She picks up his stack of notes, and - quill in hand - starts writing out her own thoughts and theories, cross referencing his work with the stack of books that he's brought from Hogwarts.  It's hard to concentrate when she knows he needs to talk his problem through, but she doesn't want to push him - she can tell from the way his eyebrows are knitted together and the fact that he hasn't turned a page for over forty minutes that his focus is on Lucius and whatever has happened with Avery or Mulciber or whoever he's keeping company with these days.  Despite this, he doesn't speak.

Instead, he finds his voice hours later, when with inky fingers and tired eyes, she slides beneath the covers.  He joins her, nestling himself behind her, his hand resting on her hip - and then, she hears a soft murmur, his warm breath tickling the back of her neck.

"They want me to stop his supply."

She slides her hand into his, her fingers holding his tight.   _He's brewed for Malfoy since he left Hogwarts._ "Do you know why?"

"Galleons," he whispers.  "It's always galleons."

"They don't want him making money, or they don't want you helping him to make money, or-"

"His father used to donate.  To the cause."

She can't help but breathe in sharply, and then she feels annoyed with herself.   _Just because Narcissa has opened her door to you, you shouldn't be so ridiculous as to forget what sort of people the Malfoys truly are_.  She plays Severus' words over in her head, and this time, she realises what he's said.  " _Used_ to?  Lucius' father was a backer and then he stopped?"

"Apparently," he says.  

"Do they know why?"

"No."  He pauses.  "It happened abruptly - unexpectedly.  ...they think Malf is to blame.  It was just as he was becoming powerful in his own right instead of hanging on to his father's cloak."

"And do you think the same?"

"No," he says.  

She draws in a breath.   _Stupid,_ she thinks, _hoping that Lucius had some moral sense that meant her warming to the Malfoys wasn't unwarranted_.  "Oh."

"I don't _think_ the same, love," he mutters.  "I know for certain."

She wants to turn and cradle his face in her hands - she wants to know exactly why Lucius has stepped back from the Death Eater cause if his father was so aligned, but it's taken Severus so many hours to start talking, she doesn't want to spook him - doesn't want to give him reason to stop.  "Do they know you know?"

"No.  I don't think so."

"So Lucius has cut off their funding, and now they're trying to ruin him?"

"Yes."  And then he strokes his hands over her bump, and he touches his lips to her neck as Bean's magic pulses back at him.

"And will you?"

"I don't think I have a choice."  He hesitates.  "...I was thinking…  I wondered if you'd brew for him instead."

There's a very long pause as she mulls the idea over.  "But won't they think you're still brewing?"

"Yes," he says, reluctantly.  "Or they'd think you really were his brewer, and that would open up all sorts of problems."  He sighs.  "I know you think he's a monster, Lil, but I can't just hang him out to dry.  Not after everything he's done for me."

"I don't think he's a monster," she eventually says.  

It's a strange silence that falls over them.  It's not awkward or uncomfortable, but she genuinely doesn't know what to say, and she's certain that he feels the same.  It's not the sort of conversation where you can smoothly switch topics - she can hardly discuss her mother's garden or her father's endeavours with repositioning the television aerial to get a more reliable reception - and yet, with the idea that Severus is going to have to reject his best friend looming over them, sleep seems like an unfathomable concept.  Instead, she lies back and thinks about her new acquaintances, and the semi-pleasant evening she shared not just with Narcissa but Lucius as well.   _He's not a monster_.  

"Sev?"

"Mmm?"

"I saw Lucius the other night.  When I went to see Narcissa."

"You said."

"...he asked me a strange question."

His hand across her bump flexes; a reflex action, and she instantly places hers over the top of it, but his voice is still sharp when he speaks.  "Oh?"

 _Not like that_ , she thinks.  "His father takes Imperatum.  ...for his... _nerves_."

Severus gives a small chuckle, and his amusement reassures her that she's not the only person who saw straight through the unconvincing lie.  "Yes, I believe so.  I'm surprised he told you."

"And this is where you tell me there's more to the story than I already know?"

"Of course."

"And this is where you also tell me that you're not prepared to break his confidence?"

He laughs again.  "I would, if it was relevant - but Malf…  Let's just say he has his reasons."

"And you agree with them?"

There's a pause.  "Agree is a strong word."

"He asked me," she ventures, "if I could think of a reason why Imperatum would stop working."

Severus stills.  "He asked _you_?"

"Is that really so surprising?" she snaps.  "I might be a Mudblood-"

"-Lil, don't!"

"-but I do have a brain."

"It's not…  That's not in question, love," he says, his voice distant, "but I already told him what I thought."

"What's wrong with a second opinion?"

"Why would he need one?"  He draws in a deep breath.  "Unless he doesn't trust me?"

She shakes her head.  "That doesn't make sense.  Why would he ask me if he doesn't trust you?" she asks.  "He knows we're together."

"Mmm," he says, but he doesn't sound convinced.  "And tell me - what did you say?"

"The potion was perfect when I inspected it, and he said there had been no change in supply.  The only thing I could think was that there's a conflict with something else his father is consuming."

"Yes."

They lie again in silence, and she nestles herself closer to him, enjoying the feel of his body against her own - and then she remembers the real question she wanted to ask him.

"Sev?"

"Yes?"

"Can you think of a potion that uses bowtruckles?"

"Particularly grim, love," he says, somberly.  "You realise the implication?"

"Oh please," she retorts.  "You think nothing of crushing beetles and slicing up flobberworms.  Just because bowtruckles have a personality-"

"I hope you don't talk like this around Hagrid."

"I know better," she laughs.

His fingers strum an amused pattern across her bump.  "Your mother is _dark_ , Bean," he murmurs.

"You're right though," she muses.  "It's enough to put most people off."

" _Most_ ," affirms Severus.  

"So how are they added to a brew?  I couldn't find anything in the books."

"You won't find anything in the books because people are squeamish," he says.  "Excellent brewers neglect to mention such techniques, else they draw unwanted attention to their work."

"Like those Scamander followers?"

"Exactly!  You can't get anything patented at the Ministry if they decide to campaign on the steps outside on the grounds of cruelty to magical creatures.  It's ridiculous - bowtruckles are very useful...especially when they're ground to a fine powder."

"Been using them?" she teases.

She can feel his smile against the back of her neck.  "Of course, love.  How else would I know?"

"What in?"

And then, just as quickly as it arrived, his smile disappears, the implication of her line of questioning dawning upon him.  "Oh _fuck_."

* * *

It's unsurprising that neither of them can sleep.  It's even less surprising that Severus can't, seeing as he spends most of the night pacing around her bedroom, his hands clasped behind his head, ranting about his own idiocy.

"Sev, come on," she says for the umpteenth time, struggling to keep her voice low.  "Stop beating yourself up over something you can't change."

"But how could I have been so stupid?" he spits, real venom in his voice.  "You even asked me!"

"...did I?"

"Yes," he scowls.  "You asked me if Rabastan was an alcoholic, and I said no - I was so quick to answer, so quick to accept his sorrowful tale of misery, and I didn't even think of any alternatives.  I didn't even bother to verify why he wanted such a potion!  Borage would've murdered me for such an oversight!"

"Thankfully, you're not still working for Borage.  Come on, Sev, it's not as if you're intimately acquainted with the Lestranges," she says, trying to calm him.  "It wasn't obvious."

"It should've been!"  He swipes his bare foot at the carpet, his face filled with anger.  "Stupid, Lil. _Stupid_!"

She pulls the duvet around her, and watches helplessly as he moves around the room, hoping that his louder-than-usual footsteps don't rouse her parents.  "It isn't just you," she ventures.  "He's had access to Abraxas to supply the potion - you said yourself, he's been there of late, hasn't he?  At Malfoy Manor?"

Severus stops, and turns to face her, his black eyes feeling as if they're boring a hole through her.  "...go on."

"You said…"  She almost doesn't dare say it - now that his furious mood seems to have been briefly stemmed, she doesn't want to send his emotions spiralling - but she needs to tell him, so her words flood out in a quick stream.  "When you rescued me from Lucius' study, you said…you said you were expecting Lucius' visitor to be Rabastan."

He nods, stiffly, his eyes narrowing and his cheeks colouring slightly.  "Yes."

"And when I was talking to Narcissa and Lucius the other night…"

"Yes?" he asks, a little more impatiently.  "What?"

"Narcissa mentioned that Bellatrix brought Rabastan to a meal."  She shrugs.  "I assume that's not the only time he's been to visit.  He is family."

"Family," Severus scoffs.

"Of a sort.  With him being her sister's brother-in-law, and-"

"Yeah, I know how they're family, thanks!  You don't need to spell out the Malfoy family tree, for-"

"There's no need to be so rude, Severus," she snaps.  "I was only pointing out that if the Lestrange brothers are frequenting the Manor, then there's ample opportunity."

He falls quiet, his expression a little abashed, and then he sighs.  "Look, family or not, Dolph hates Malf," Severus explains, quietly.  "And there's no love lost between Malf and Bella either."  He gives a short laugh.  "In fairness, there's no love lost between most of us and Bella - we are but minions who share her precious oxygen - but there's something about Malf that really riles her.  At least she sees me as a cockroach or something equally unthreatening."

 _It's Lucius' acceptance of whatever suits him_ , she thinks, knowing Bellatrix Lestrange's fierce reputation.  "She's a convert to the purist crusade, isn't she?"

He nods, the slightest of movements.  "I don't think she needed to be converted as such."

"And that's the problem, Sev.  She's a zealot.  Convinced of the cause.  But Lucius…"

"He's not.  He's slippery," Severus nods again, giving her a quick grin.  "Out for himself, and whatever suits him and his present circumstances."

"So she wants to be the one to bring down the disloyal Lucius?  And in doing so, she'll be the one who reinstates the funding path between the Malfoy family and…"

"The Dark Lord," Severus finishes.  

"And who better to help her than her newly acquired pureblood family?  Her own is scarred, with Andromeda and even Narcissa…  In Bellatrix's eyes, anyway."   _And Bellatrix doesn't even know about Narcissa befriending a Mudblood_.  

Severus looks thoughtful.  "Yes.  Dolph will happily donate Bast to the cause, and Bast would do anything for his brother.  Bella's the one who gets to dance before the Dark Lord as his loyal servant - as the brains behind the operation."  He gives her an admiring look, a smile playing on his lips.  "Bloody hell, you're good, love. I'd never have pieced that together on my own."

She smiles tightly back at him, holding her hand out and beckoning him towards her once more.  "We don't know I'm right."

"I do," he says, kneeling before her.  He slides his hand through her hair until he's holding the back of her neck.  He kisses her insistently, and then topples her back onto the bed until she's trapped beneath him.  "You're _amazing_ ," he murmurs, wrapping them both in the covers, and roaming his hands over her.  

"Amazing?" she laughs, writhing as he kisses his way across her body.

"Yes.  Amazing," he says, punctuating his words by pressing his lips to her skin.  "And do you know what's even more amazing?"

"No," she whispers back, running her hands through his hair and encouraging his actions.  "Tell me."

"That you're _mine_."

" _We_ both are," she breathlessly corrects, as she throws her head back, his teeth nipping at her neck.  "We're both yours.  The three of us together.  We're a family."

"Yes," he agrees, peppering her face with quick kisses.  "Mr and Mrs and," he slides his hand across her midriff, "our Bean."

Lily places her hand over his, not missing his look of ecstasy as his engagement ring on her finger brushes his skin, and she captures his lips in a heated kiss.


	58. Convenient scapegoat

It's the fifth time he's used Polyjuice to transform into her, and his acting still hasn't improved.  She makes it look effortless when she masquerades as him, roaming around Hogwarts with ease, his favourite cloak billowing behind her and her revelling in how fast his longer legs can transport her around the castle - but when it comes to him pretending to be Lily, he can't seem to grasp her mannerisms.  His mood is too sour, and his gait is awkward, and he has a tendency - when left unchecked for more than three minutes - to sit with his legs splayed, his knees pointing outwards.

If there weren't such serious consequences to such a failure, she'd laugh - her mother would have palpitations seeing her with her legs akimbo in such an unladylike pose - but knowing that he is due to walk into an Order meeting, she knows he has to be perfect, and his inability to pass as her isn't a laughing matter.  It's ironic, she feels.  She daren't say as much to him, but as a youth, he'd always been slightly feminine in his appearance; his hair a little too long, his sharp features somewhat delicate, and even his graceful limbs were almost womanly - especially when contrasted with the thick muscle of some of their contemporaries.  So many of the sportier teenagers saw the benefits of spending hours on a broomstick, but he'd always shied away from exerting himself on the Quidditch pitch, preferring instead to flex his brains in the library.

He'd started to noticeably change again during the past few months.  Her puberty had been over years before, and his growth spurt from boy to teenager had taken place a couple of years later, with him finally overtaking her in height - much to his relief.  Whilst Lily then remained the same height and shape and size as she had from fifth year, Severus was still developing all these years later - this time, he was changing from a lanky teenager into a man.  The more time they spent apart, the more obvious it was - he'd grown again over the past few months, yet another inch or so taller, and he'd become a little broader. His shoulders were wider, and his stubble seemed darker, and although his chest hair was still relatively sparse, it was a little thicker than it had been before.  He was hairier all over, in fact - his arms and legs covered in a dark layer that hadn't been quite so obvious against his pale skin when they'd first started dating. Even her own mother had commented on Severus seeming much more like Tobias than he ever had before, and she was certain Severus himself had noticed too.  

Yet, until this moment, it had never really struck her that his body becoming more masculine wasn't the only change in him, but that his mannerisms had drifted too - the way he held himself, the way he walked, the way he moved - and as soon as he was forced into a woman's body, he clearly struggled to behave in a delicate and refined way.  Not that Lily would've ever called herself delicate and refined, but Severus was struggling to even sit on a chair without causing her anxiety.

She's certain that this is all wrapped up in his insecurities, because he's usually a good actor - a witty mimic, and a quick study.  He looks in pain when he adopts her visage, as if every action is wrenched from him - as if he doesn't want to be skilled at being a woman, as if he doesn't want to succeed.  But each time he fails, he's angry with himself, and she's certain it's not deliberate.

 _Subconscious, perhaps,_ she thinks - _maybe he's sabotaging himself without realising?_ Whatever's happening, it's disconcerting watching yourself being sick.  As she stands in her parents' bathroom with him, one hand wrapped in his - her - hair, holding it out of the way, she wonders if this is what it would be like to be a twin.

"Sorry," he mutters, and then he twists the cold tap on, cupping fresh water in his hands and swirling it around his mouth and spitting it out.  He reaches for his toothbrush, and quickly brushes his teeth, replacing the sour taste in his mouth with mint, and then rinses with water.

"I don't think we should do this," she says.  

He freezes, still bent over the basin, facing the other way.  "Do what?"

"You being me.  You're not convincing."

"I've been trying my best, Lil!"

She places her hand soothingly on his - her - back.  "I know, Sev, and that's the problem.  If this is your best, then you're never going to be convincing enough."

"It'll be fine," he snaps.  "It's not as if anyone there knows you well enough to notice the difference."

She arches an eyebrow, and hands him a towel to dry his hands.  "I think they might notice if you slump in a chair, open your legs, and flash your knickers at Potter."

"I won't do that."

"No?  You did it three times in twenty minutes downstairs!"

He sniffs.  "Fine, I'll remember not to do that.  Anything else?"

"Don't go throwing up with the stress of it all."

"This isn't stress," he mutters.  

 _It is_. 

"Go on," he says, "I can tell there's more you want to criticise me for."

"Sev, it's not a criticism, but there's hundreds of things!"

"Hundreds?" he huffs, putting the towel back on the rail.  "You're being ludicrous."

"Potter and Black and Pettigrew and Lupin shared a common room with me for seven years," she says, disdainfully.  "I think they know my mannerisms more than you'd credit them.  And they'll be suspicious after I've been missing for so long - they'll be looking out for oddities."

He turns then, flashing her a smile.  "I'm an oddity, am I?"

"And you know it," she grins back, squeezing his - her - cheek between her finger and thumb.  "Come on, come back to my room before Mummy and Daddy get back and wonder what on earth we're up to."

The hour was almost over when they stopped practicing, so he isn't in her room long before he transforms back to his usual appearance.  Once again, he's grateful he only tried the standard version of Polyjuice instead of experimenting with the vials she's brewed that would ensure the potion lasted for a longer duration.

"How are you feeling?" she asks.  "Better now?"

"Yes."  He flings his arms over his head, a broad grin crossing his face.  "It's no slight on the host body, but I'm bloody glad to be back.  I hate being so short."

She knows it isn't just his lack of height that bothers him, but she doesn't press the issue.  "At least you won't have to do it again," she says.  "Who knew that life as Lily Evans was so bad, hey?"

"Come here," he says, gruffly, pulling her into a tight embrace, and dropping a light kiss onto the top of her head.  "You know it's me that's messed up, and not you."

She holds him tightly, refusing to let go when he shifts his weight, signifying that their hug should end, and she can feel his laugh rumbling in his chest as she continues to grip him.  "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," he replies, squeezing her slightly, and then relaxing into her hold.  "I like it.  Just you being you."

"...speaking of which," she says, eventually.  

"Mmm?"

"Of me being me.  I'll go.  To the Order meeting."

"Lil, no."

"Sev, yes."  She moves half a step backwards, allowing her to gaze up at his face, which is filled with concern.  "Keep that evening free."

"I don't follow.  I'm meant to be his spy," he says, cautiously.  

"And you've said yourself, you've seen Dumbledore roaming the dungeons more often than usual."

"It means nothing.  It's his castle - why wouldn't he be down there?"

"He's looking for me and you know it."  She runs her hand gently across his jaw.  "We need a story for why I'm not there.  For why I've not attended any meetings until now.  ...and for why I can't Polyjuice into you and get back into Hogwarts after the meeting."

"And how does me turning up at an Order meeting change any of that?"

"I didn't ask _you_ to attend the meeting," she says, mischievously.  "Like I said, we need a story."

He visibly relaxes at her words.  "...and from the tone of your voice, I am to assume you've got one, have you?"

"But of course, Sev!" she laughs.

"And what do you need me to do?"

She reaches up and presses her lips to his.  "Trust me," she says, and then she squeals loudly as he picks her up and spins her around, her legs wrapping around his hips.

"I always do, love," he murmurs, kissing her earnestly in response.  "My clever, _clever_ witch."

* * *

There's no dancing at Malfoy Manor during their next visit.  The two couples eat grand meals from dishes made of bone china and using hallmarked silver cutlery, but the record player remains silent, the wall torches are dim, and the mood is muted.  Whilst the elves tidy and clear the drawing room, all four retire to Lucius' study - the door firmly locked, bolted, and then spell upon spell from both Lucius and Narcissa's wands cast against it.

As the well mannered hosts they are, Narcissa presents Severus and Lily with goblets, and Lucius brings out a fine bottle of wine - but Lily shakes her head.

"I'll join you with apple juice, Narcissa," she smiles.  "It's unfair to drink whilst you cannot."

"And I'll join you with wine, Lucius," Severus grins, making sure that his interruption serves as a distraction, ensuring that there is no argument against Lily's refusal, "for it would be unfair to leave you as the only one imbibing."

"Such a sacrifice you make for friendship," Lucius laughs, clapping him on the shoulder as he passes him.  "I know you've seen the date on the bottle, you cad."

"But of course," Severus smiles.  He points at the large armchair nearest to the fire.  "Do you mind?"

Lucius shakes his head.  "Go ahead."

Severus casts his wand at the armchair, extending it until it will comfortably seat two.  He sinks into it, and then beckons Lily towards him, settling his arm around her shoulders when she sits beside him.

Narcissa does the same with another seat, and when Lucius has finished filling Severus' goblet with wine, he sits next to her, sipping first from his own glass.  "Ah, how impolite of me," he chastises himself, and then raises his goblet in the air.  "To friends."

All three raise their goblets in the air to join him, their voices chorusing his toast.

"I thought for a moment you had forgotten your manners," Narcissa teases.

"Just another thing for you to berate me in private for, Cissy," Lucius says, giving his wife an affectionate look when she rolls her eyes.  "Just as you're going to do for this."

She looks slightly flustered.  "I dread to think…  Please don't embarrass us in front of our company, Lucius."

He carries on, undeterred by her objection.  "I think your sister is behind all of this."

"No, Bella isn't behind-"

"-then why else would Rabastan betray me in such a way?"

"I was unaware that Rodolphus and Rabastan did not have minds of their own," Narcissa says, icily and Severus quickly flashes Lily a quelling glance when he sees the amusement on her face.  "I did not realise that they woke in the morning, and awaited Bella's instructions before they did as much as dare crawl out of bed."

"I didn't say-"

"You did, Lucius!"  Narcissa's face is pinched as she sips from her goblet.  "As far as I can see, there's nothing in what Severus has told us that remotely suggests Bella's involvement in this whole sorry affair."

There's a petulant edge to Lucius' voice when he speaks again.  "She has never liked me."

"And neither has Rodolphus, and he seems a far more obvious suspect," Narcissa bites back.

"Yes, and I should shop them both - Rabastan and Rodolphus - for this!  Then we'd see who was truly to blame."

"Oh, don't be so ridiculous, Lucius."

The group falls into silence at Narcissa's rebuke, and Severus and Lily share an awkward look.  It's not often that Narcissa overrules her husband - especially not within company - and to their surprise, Lucius doesn't shout or lay down the law, but he tilts his head, as if he's been slapped, and he flares his nostrils, breathing deeply.

"I could," Lily ventures, ignoring Severus' widening eyes at her words, "shop them, if that's what you're intending."

"Lil, be careful," Severus warns, placing his hand over hers.

"We discussed this, Sev," she argues, softly.  "I need something."

"You?"  Lucius leans back in the chair, moving his focus from his wife to Lily.  "You could bring them down?"

"The Ministry believes that I'm spying on you, remember?" she says, quietly.  "I haven't passed any information of late - the story we've fed back is that I am laying low whilst I try and ingratiate myself within your ranks, but what better way to return than with tales of nefarious dealings within the Malfoy estate?"

"Rising like a phoenix," Lucius mutters, chewing on his lip.  "It's interesting.  You could."

Narcissa leans forward.  "Not Dolph," she says, quickly.  "Bast, yes, but not Dolph. Bella would never forgive us."

"Well, I'd personally appreciate it if you didn't turn Bast over to the authorities either," Severus drawls.  "Given our little involvement, I fear that I would be raided - and whilst I may have evaded Azkaban once, I believe I might well be made into the convenient scapegoat."

"They won't trace it back to you," Lucius says, dismissively.

"No?  This is a potion of my own creation, which leads to very few likely suspects.  In fact, I rather fear the shortlist would be me, me, and oh yes, me again."

"Well something needs to be done about Bast," Lucius shoots back.

"Even if it means me being tortured by Dementors for a decade or seven?"  Severus arches his eyebrow.

Lucius looks mildly abashed.  "There must be ways of avoiding such an outcome.  We'll get you a talented solicitor."

Severus rolls his eyes.  "Yes, I'm sure that would restore my position in wizarding society.  I'm already labelled as a murder, or an incompetent-"

"Sev, let it go," Lily says, squeezing his hand.

"-besides, even if I weren't convicted, I doubt Dumbledore would take kindly to me causing the auror department to descend upon his school."  He glares at his friend. "It's not just you at stake here, Malf!"

"That's that then," Lucius huffs.  "I shall just sit around whilst the Lestranges destroy my family, and my name, and my-"

"I didn't say that," Severus interrupts, loudly.  "I'm sure there's another witch or wizard we could involve."

"...to take the heat?  Instead of Bast?"

Severus nods.  "We set somebody up, they take the fall, and as they know nothing legitimate about any of this, they can't point their finger at me as the supplier."

"Sev, you can't-"

"He can, and it's a bloody wonderful idea," Lucius beams.  He pauses in his enthusiasm when he sees Lily's look of uncertainty, and then he gets up and stands behind their extended armchair, placing both hands on her shoulders, gently massaging them.  "He's right.  It'll cement your standing as a spy for the Ministry, and we can scare off Bast," and then he shoots a pointed look at his wife, "and Dolph and Bella, all whilst Severus doesn't come under any suspicion.  It's perfect." He lets go of her shoulders, and reaches for the wine bottle.  "More, Severus?"

Severus nods, quickly draining his goblet, and then holding it out to be refilled.

"But who?" Narcissa says.

"Someone easy," Severus says, toying with the rim of his goblet.  "Someone nobody will miss."

"Avery."

"Not Ave," Severus snaps back immediately.  "He's my connection.  I need him."

"I thought _I_ was your connection," Lucius argues.

"Yes, your standing within the Dark Lord's regime is looking really solid at the moment, Malf!  Be Malf's associate," he sneers, "and you can be stabbed in the front as well as the back!"

"You are most insufferable, Severus!"

"Behold his power, Caesar has nothing on him!  Et tu-"

"Boys.  Boys!"  Narcissa stands, holding her hands out between them, as if to break up an impending brawl, and only lowering them when Lucius moves back to their seat.  "Lucius, please think about this logically - is the Ministry likely to believe that Avery would mastermind-"

"He doesn't need to be the brains behind it," Lucius scowls.

"No?  Because if he isn't," Lily joins in, firmly, "then they'll start looking for who is.  Someone who has put him up to it.  Someone such as Rabastan, for instance."

"...who then?"

"What about Rosier?"  Severus offers.

"He's too sharp."

"Reggie?"

"Absolutely not," interrupts Narcissa.

Severus bites back a laugh.  "Bloody hell, I forgot."

"That's the problem with Purebloods," Lily says, lightly, "you're all related to each other."

"All right," Severus says, quickly, with a slight shake of his head.   _Come on, love,_ he thinks, _you can push it too far_.  "What about Wilkes?  Jugson?  I'd say Crabbe but he's so unbelievably stupid, that if you think Avery isn't convincing, there's no possible way that Crabbe could be involved."

"And he has a little one on the way," Narcissa says.  "It wouldn't be fair."

Lucius suddenly stands back, a beaming smile across his face.  "I've got it.  Isolated from his family, too young to know any better, and clever enough to have come up with such a ruse."

"Oh yes?" Severus smiles.  "Sounds too good to be true."

* * *

All through the meeting, Potter keeps touching her.  It's nothing overly offensive - a nudge of his elbow, his hand on her bicep, his warm palm on her shoulder - all accompanied by hearty laughs, and smiles, and cheeky winks.

"Bloody hell, you had me worried, Evans," he teases when the meeting is finally over.  "I thought all that hiding out had finally got to you, and you'd gone to ground. Nobody's seen or heard of you!"

"It's rather the idea, Prongs," Black drawls, with a quick nod towards Lily.  "She's gone _dark_."

"She hasn't gone dark," Potter quickly retorts.  "She's working for Vance."

"Sure, working for Vance and fucking Malfoy," Black says, with a grin.  " _Dark_."

"She's not fucking Malfoy!"

"Potter!" she hisses, elbowing him hard in the ribs.  "Will you keep your voice down?"

"I'm just saying!  Sniv was bad enough, and now you want us to believe that…"  He trails off, as if the thought has suddenly struck him.  "Please tell me you're not?  Not Malfoy?"

She tosses her hair.  "Either I am, and it's none of your business, or I am not but it's just part of an elaborate cover, and I would be stupid to tell you to the contrary."

"Good answer," grins Black.  "Told you, Prongs.  Cunning enough to be a Slytherin.   _Dark_."

"There's more dark wizards and witches in one rung of your family tree than there is in generations of mine, Black," she scowls, "so like Potter here, you can get fucked as well."

"Lovely," Black says, kissing his teeth, and looking highly amused.  "Picked his language up, have you?"

"At least Lucius has manners," she argues - and just as she can feel herself on the verge of saying something she'll regret, Moody makes his way over to the three.

"Evans, a word?"

Without further comment, she permits Moody's much larger hand to envelop hers, and allows herself to be whisked over to the corner of the room.

"...Moody," she finally says.  "How are you keeping?"

"What happened?"

 _About what?_ Not wanting to volunteer information to the most talented auror in the Ministry, Lily purses her lips, pretending to deliberate over the question.  "What happened with what?"

To her surprise, Moody smiles.  "Good, Evans.  You've been learning.  Trust nobody."

"Including you."

"Including me."  Moody waves his hand before her.  "But you know what I'm talking about.  Your magic...it's different again.  That strange pulse," and he waves his hand around her torso, "has gone.  Or changed, at the very least.  Dulled, perhaps?"

 _Bean_.  

"Oh," she says, frowning, and moving her hand in the same area.  To her relief, she can feel Bean still there - but Moody is right; Bean is quieter than usual - her child's burgeoning magic is barely a gentle rumble instead of the fierce pulse she's used to feeling.   _Don't fret, Bean's still there_.  "I guess so.  I hadn't noticed."

"Been learning anything different?" Moody asks, gruffly.  "New spells?"

She shakes her head, aware of Moody's unrelenting gaze.  "Not enough time."

"Speaking of time," a woman's voice says, interrupting, "it's been many weeks since you stood amongst your friends here."  

She turns to face Vance and Bones, who are now stood slightly to the left of her.   _Stop panicking_ , she thinks.   _This is what you came for_.  "Hi," she says, a little weakly.

"It's good to see you, Lily," Bones says, with a smile.  "We were worried, weren't we, Alastor?"

Moody sniffs, but Lily doesn't miss the slight twitch of his eye.   _He was concerned_.  She wonders what Dumbledore has said to him - whether he's mentioned that she was missing from the castle, but Vance powers on before she can say anything.  

"And now that's the pleasantries dispensed with," Vance smiles sharply, "what do you have for us, Lily?"

"...Abraxas Malfoy is the money man," she says, taking a deep breath.

"Tell us something we don't know," Vance scoffs.

"Behind Imperatum," she says.  "I think."

"You _think_ ," Bones presses.  "What makes you think that?"

"...I heard him talking."

"Lucius?"

Lily shakes her head.  "Abraxas."

"You've branched out into spying on Abraxas now, have you?" Vance says, her voice tinged with amusement.  "I wanted Lucius, if you recall?"

"Not intentionally," he says, quickly.  "I was in the corridor.  Narcissa had come back, so Lucius had told me to run-"

"Yes, yes, " Moody quickly interrupts, "we get the picture."

"And you _ran_ ," murmurs Vance, "until you reached Abraxas' study, and then what?  You stood outside eavesdropping?"

"I didn't know that was Abraxas' study," she complains.  "He's only just returned."

Bones nods.  "From overseas.  Switzerland, I believe?"

She shrugs.  "I'm not sure.  Do you need me to find out?"

"Yes," Vance says, at the same time as Moody shakes his head.

Bones looks from one colleague to the other, and then pulls each of them by the arm.  "Do excuse us for one moment, Lily."  She casts a complicated charm with her wand, and their voices suddenly drop to a whisper, and although Lily strains to hear what they're saying, it's difficult for her to follow the conversation - but then she catches sight of Moody's wand moving behind his back, and their voices boom back at her, as if someone has just flicked a switch.

"No, Emmeline," Moody says.  "The girl needs to focus on what's important."

"This is important!"

"It isn't.  You're being sidetracked."

"I'm being sidetracked?  He gave our aurors the slip, Alastor," Vance hisses.  "I want to know how he got in and out of the country without being spotted.  If we know which country-"

"I'd agree normally," Bones says, "but I think Alastor is right.  I know you've been in the field, but Lily...she's just a young witch who has been caught up in all of this."

"Caught up?"  Vance scoffs.  "Caught up by shagging as many Death Eaters as she can get her hands on.  First Snape, now Malfoy, and who knows who else!  She is not an innocent!"

"Do I have to remind you that she is a Muggleborn?"

"A Muggleborn who knows which side she wants to be on if our Ministry falls," Vance mutters.  "That's what this is about.  Playing both sides.  If Muggleborns were allowed in Slytherin…"

Bones shakes her head.  "You're being unfair.  She's simply done as you've requested.  And we don't know that Snape is a Death Eater."  She pauses.  "Or Malfoy, for that matter."

Moody scoffs.  "There might be a question mark over Snape, but there isn't one over Lucius Malfoy.  He's in as deep as they go."

"And why has it taken her this long to come back to us?  All of this waiting and just to find out that Abraxas Malfoy is funding some nefarious business deal.  It's not information, Amelia!  It would've been a struggle to suggest it was useful information fifty years ago.  What's going to be her next revelation?  The sky is blue?  Grass is green?  Water is wet?"

"By all means," Moody hisses, looking unimpressed at her outburst, "instruct Evans properly - tell her what you need her to find, but don't complain that our spy is still alive after weeks in the field.  Not after we've lost so many."

"Fine," Vance says, and at her agreement, Bones whips her wand, cancelling the spell that she hasn't realised has already been removed.

"Lily," Bones says, warmly.  "We appreciate the information you've provided."

 _Sure_ , thinks Lily, striving to pretend that she hasn't heard the rest of their conversation.  "...is there a but?"

Moody's expression twitches.  "There always is."

"Abraxas might end up being of interest to us," Bones explains, "but Lucius is our focus at the moment."  She lowers her voice.  "I know he's been in some sort of battle with Dung."

"Territory," Lily says, quickly.  "That's all. Nothing important."

Vance nods dismissively.  "Fletcher's barely within the laws himself."  She gazes at her, her eyes roaming across Lily's features as if she's checking for any inconsistencies.  "If you've got nothing on Lucius…  How about anyone else he's close to?  Have you seen your ex, by any chance?"

She shakes her head quickly.  "No, thank Merlin," she says, deliberately averting his gaze from Moody.  

"You already know Dumbledore has him under lock and key," Moody says, his tone almost bored.

Bones pauses.  "What about her side of the family?"

"Narcissa?  You mean Bellatrix?"

"Or the Lestrange brothers," Bones adds.

 _Fuck_.  

"No," she says, quickly.  When she sees the look of surprise on all three faces, she mentally kicks herself.   _You said no too quickly_.

"Not at all?"  Bones sends a confused look towards the pair of youths sitting at the end of the table, and it's obvious she's indicating to Sirius.  "I thought from what we knew, the Blacks were a rather tight unit.  And yet you're saying that you've never seen Bellatrix or her husband, or-"

 _You need to distract them_.  "I don't spend much time around Narcissa for obvious reasons," she says, trying not to sound disdainful.  "Although…"

"Although?"

"I don't know if it's important, but I did hear...and this is the strangest thing," she says, trying to look puzzled, "I'm certain I heard Abraxas mention a Klout?"

"Klout?"

"Or Grounce?"  She shakes his head, trying to look innocent.  "Ounce?  Rount?  I don't know, it was hard to hear through the study door."  She feigns thoughtfulness. "Bertie Grount, I think that was it - I think that was what he said."  She watches as the three exchange a confused glance, and Bones plucks a quill from the table, quickly scrawling a note on a piece of parchment.

"And what did you hear about this...Grount?" she presses.

 _This is it_ , she thinks.  "He's found a way to break the effects of Imperatum.  I guess that's why it's been released onto the wizarding public," she adds, the lies tripping off her tongue.

"Because all of those involved can circumvent it," Vance says, looking stunned.  "Very well.  We need to find this Grount."  She makes to leave, and then abruptly turns on her heel, facing her once more.  "Thank you, Lily," she says.  "I look forward to your next report.  Try to remember that it is Lucius that we're after."

As Vance marches off, Bones places a warm hand on Lily's shoulder.  "Yes, thank you, Lily.  I'll let Alastor take you to wherever you're staying," she says, "but if you find yourself in need, try and alert one of us, and we'll assist however we can.  It's important you get information for us but-"

"-don't take unnecessary risks," Moody interrupts, gruffly.  "Malfoy's a nasty piece of work."

"I won't," she says, waiting for Bones to depart, watching as she joins Vance in an animated conversation with Hestia Jones.

"Come on then," Moody says, whipping his wand before him.  "Let us depart."

"Let's just say," she says, drawing in a breath, "that I don't think either you or Potter will want to walk me out tonight."

"You brought _him_ here?"

She shakes her head sharply.  "Not here.  But not a million miles away either."  She tilts her jaw upwards.  "I'm going back to his.  I believe Narcissa is away."

Moody's nostrils flare, and he practically drags her to the door.  When they're outside, he speaks, and his voice is barely more than a whisper.  "And what happened to that nasty little grub you were so keen on?  Our deal's off, is it?"

"I didn't say that.  I'll get her for you."

"So I was right.  Change of plan?  We're swapping her for Malfoy's freedom?"

"I didn't say that either."

"...her for Snape's freedom, even though you're sleeping with a married man?"

"The deal was for Severus to walk free, yes."

His eye twitches again.  "I don't like things that don't make sense."

"And I don't like people who are obsessed with who I'm sleeping with."  She gives him a haughty once over, and then sets off down the street.  "You're getting as bad Potter," she calls, over her shoulder.

"It's not the same," Moody scowls, hastily moving to catch her up.  "Potter wants you for himself."  He glances at her, and seeing the smirk on her face, he shakes his head.  "And you can hold that thought.  Don't flatter yourself."

"Well, why else would you care so much with whose bed I am warming?  This isn't the 1800s!"

"It's because there's a bloody war on, you naive fool," he hisses as they round a corner.  "You're choosing to hop between the bed of one dark wizard and then another - and _yes_ ," he says, angrily, "Snape is a dark wizard, I know it!  I've seen enough of them in my time."

She bristles angrily.  "He's not-"

"-if he's not, then he's on the verge," Moody warns.  "He's been _seen_.  And believe it or not, I have grown a little fond of you, and I'd rather not be picking the pieces of you up after the Death Eaters and their followers have had their fun tearing you apart."  

"Oh."  She can't help but give an involuntary shudder at the vivid picture his words paint.

He gives her a nasty smile, accompanied by a smug nod of his head.  "I've seen a lot in my line of work.  You're dancing with dragons, and…"  He tails off, drawing suddenly to a halt as he sees the figure of Lucius Malfoy leaning casually against a lampost.

"Thank you for the conversation," she says, her hand raised in a goodbye.  "I appreciate your concern, but I do know how to look after myself."

Moody nods, and then moves into the shadows, watching as Lucius looks left, and then right, and then reaches down to kiss her passionately.  "Make sure you do," Moody whispers, as he watches Lucius lead her into the night.

* * *

"All right, love?" Lucius asks as he pulls her into an alley.  "No trouble with Potter and his gang?"

"Hardly a gang," she says.  "There was only him and Sirius there."

"No wolf?"

"No.  No Pettigrew either."

"What about the others?  Dumbledore?  Vance?  Bones?"

"No Dumbledore either," she says, solemnly.

"Bloody hell, that was half the point of going!"

She grabs his hand.  "It's fine - the news will get back to him.  Bones or Moody or someone will fill in him."

"And as for Bones and Vance and Moody…  They took the bait?"

She nods.  "I think so."

"Good," he says, a wide smile creeping across his face.  "What was up with old Moody when he walked you out?  Looked like you were having a mothers' meeting the way you were chatting - I've been waiting out here nearly an hour!"

"Warning me off the likes of you," she says, squeezing his hand.  

"Me?" he asks, "or _me_?"

"Both of you."

"Oh yes?  Don't tell me, he thinks I'm a dangerous dark wizard?"

"Yes."

He flashes her a grin, his pale grey eyes twinkling.  "And tell me, Lil, would that be me or _me_?"

"Both of you, Sev," she laughs, pulling him close.  "And if you've been out here nearly an hour, we'd best get you back."

"No rush," he murmurs, enjoying the feel of his witch against him.  "I took one of those vials you made, to see if it does last longer."  He holds his arm - Lucius' arm - out to the side and admires his hand.  "All seems well."  Then, he snakes his arm back around her, pressing her against him, and suddenly, he freezes.

"What?"

"Bean," he says, ghosting his hand across her abdomen.  "Bean's quiet."

"It's the concealing charm," she says, trying to keep the worry out of her voice.  "Bean gets quieter the longer I use it - I noticed the other night; I thought Bean had just fallen asleep whilst we were talking to Lucius and Narcissa, but an hour or so after I lifted it, Bean's magic was back."

"Then let's get you both home, love," he says, seriously, wrapping his arms tightly around her.  "Are you Apparating us, or me?"


	59. Concealment

Safely back in Cokeworth, she removes the concealment charm hiding Bean, and then quietly smuggles Severus-as-Lucius into her parents' house, and up into her bedroom.  She tells him to be silent, and then heads back down the stairs, explaining loudly to her parents that Severus is feeling under the weather so he's gone straight to bed, and as she's tired, she's going with him - and they don't want to be disturbed.  Her parents don't as much as raise an eyebrow at this statement - although her father does when she fills her arms from the fridge, bundling an array of foods upstairs.

"Cravings," she says, and her father nods tightly, letting her pass without comment.

* * *

"You're an accomplished liar, love," Severus smiles, lying on the bed and watching as she casts against the door, ensuring her well-meaning parents can't enter unannounced.

"And it's so weird hearing your words coming from...him."

Severus smiles, flicking Lucius' blond hair over his shoulder.  "How long do you think it'll last?"

"I was going for as long as possible.  Might be a few hours yet."

He nods, and pats the mattress, beckoning her towards him.  "How's Bean?"

"Quiet," she says, holding her bump, "but don't worry.  Feel."  She takes his hand and shrugs her top upwards so he can make contact with her bare skin.  "Yes?"

"Bean's definitely in there," he says, softly, seeming reassured.  His fingertips make lazy circles as he caresses her, and he smiles as he feels a soft thrum of magic spilling back at him.  "And Bean knows Dad's here," he grins.

"Can't fool Bean with Polyjuice," she says, nestling against him.

They sit together in silence, his hands moving over her skin, until he clears his throat.  "Lil?"

"Yes?"

"You were saying…  What did Moody say about Bean?"

"Not Bean exactly," she admits, "but Moody recognised my magic had changed."

"...because of the concealment?"

"Yes."

"Just the concealment?"  He pauses.  "Because compared to your magic, Bean feels really different."

"Like a white light under your hand?"

"Yes!"

"An innocent."

"Yeah."  He shrugs.  "You don't feel quite like that normally."

"Nor you."

He gives a soft laugh.  "No.  No, I wouldn't have thought so.  I don't think I've ever come across as innocent."

"Idiot," she says, kissing his cheek.  "You're a good man, Sev."

"Even when I grind up bowtruckles?"

She laughs, and grabs his arm, wrapping it around her and pressing herself against his warm chest.  "Speaking of bowtruckles, they accepted your story about the Imperatum."

"Good," he says.  "Trying to track down the mysterious man should keep them busy for a while."

"Do you think a little bit of hearsay will be enough to condemn him?"

"By the time Lucius has finished it will be," Severus says, coolly.  "Speaking of which, I have a potion to adjust."

"Rabastan's?"

"Not by much," he says, sensing the concern in her tone.  "Just enough to give Malf the edge over his father."

"You don't think they'll trace that back to you?"

"Not if Malf keeps the payments up.  That's all Bast has been after.  As far as he's concerned, there'll be no change - I keep delivering the potion, and Abraxas keeps handing over the money."

She sighs.  "I think you and Lucius are being too clever for your own good."

"Really?"

"Yes!  They'll still be able to trace it back to you."

"They won't," he argues.  "What are they going to trace?  An inert potion they find in Abraxas' study?"

"And you don't think Rabastan is going to be suspicious?"

"Bast will simply be relieved that he's dodged a lengthy stint in Azkaban."  He shrugs.  "Bast doesn't know that I'm only brewing it for him, and with the sudden influx of Imperatum on the street, it's not surprising that someone would discover my potion's secondary use.  An accident."  He gives her a wicked grin.  "And if the aurors listen to Lily's suggestion and arrest who Malf is hoping, that person can't give up my name anyway."

"Because he's innocent."

"I don't think I'd quite say that."

"Of this charge though," she warns.  "What if they use Veritaserum?"

"The Ministry won't," he laughs.  "They're sick - you saw what happened with the Fearless Fifty."

"That isn't how it works," she whispers.  "He's not just any wizard, is he?  People like that...they get around the laws."

He gives her a dark look.  "Unless they're a fitting poster boy for a political cause," he says.  "If they've got someone who is sufficient deterrent for the rest of society, that'll do.  Make an example of them."

"Sev, what if he finds out we've set him up-"

"He's not going to find out," he says, gently.  "We don't run in the same circles.  I'll be the last wizard, and you'll be the last witch, that he would even think of."  

She looks sceptical.  "Maybe not you or I, but what if he points the finger at Lucius?"

"What about it?  If he thinks Malf is behind it, then so what?  Malf can look after himself."  He gives her a tight smile.  "Come on, love, don't panic now - you know this is the best solution."

She nods, remembering the heated discussion in Lucius' study - the four of them trying to work out how best to resolve the Rabastan situation.  "As long as it works."

"It will.  It puts Bast in the clear, but scares him into stopping buying it - not because it hasn't been working, but because he doesn't want to be caught holding such a potion if the aurors are swooping."

"-and if he doesn't?  If he still wants it?"

Severus shrugs.  "I could stop brewing it.  I could profess that the new heightened interest in such concoctions have stopped me from procuring the necessary ingredients-"

"-or that Dumbledore suspects something and has lain down the law if you want to stay at Hogwarts?"

"Exactly."

She lets out a deep sigh.  "I'm not happy about this."

"Me neither, love," he agrees, "but I think we've made the best of a bad situation.  Now stop worrying about it."

"Easier said than-

"-yes, but there's no changing what's done, and all this fretting is bad for you both."  He pauses and kisses her forehead, and then slides off the bed, kneeling and whispering to her bump.  "You'll upset Bean."  When she runs her fingers through his silken hair, he gently presses kisses against her bump, smiling as he feels their child's magic pulsing happily back at him, much stronger than before.  "And Daddy doesn't want an unhappy Bean, does he?"

* * *

He hasn't slept well - not like he usually does when he's pressed up against Lily, but he thinks it's because she keeps moving away from him in the night.  At one point, he wakes to find a pillow shoved between them, and when he moves it, she groggily protests. "You don't smell right," she murmurs, pulling it back.

He'd spent a sleepless fifteen minutes sniffing at his skin, trying to work out if he does smell like Lucius, but he has no idea what Lucius normally smells like - he's usually doused in thick aftershave, and as good as Polyjuice is, it doesn't come with such accessories.  He lies on his back and makes a mental note to swipe some when he's next at Malfoy Manor; there's no point in looking the part if something as trivial as aftershave might give him away.

He's somewhat disappointed to wake and find that he's still Lucius, although he's stunned at the longevity of her potion - and feeling inspired to brew, he quietly disentangles himself from the covers, and with the softest of kisses to her temple, he kneels on the floor and starts to experiment with her brewing equipment.

* * *

"Morning," she says, her voice thick with sleep.

"Morning, love," he says brightly, leaning over her cauldron, and dribbling ingredients in from a great height.

"Do you have to add them like that?  Does it make a difference?"

"No," he says, with a grin, "but I like being flamboyant.  It suits my current appearance."

She can't help but laugh.  "How long now?"

"Seventeen hours," he says, and there's clear admiration in his voice.  "I am starting to fret that I won't turn back at all."

She quietly wraps herself in the duvet, and it's obvious from her expression that the thought unnerves her.

"Hey," he says, leaning over to brush her chin with his fingers.  "It'll be fine.  I'm only teasing.  Just make sure your parents don't come in here today, yeah?"

* * *

He's decanting a translucent purple potion into vials when it finally happens - his hands start to change shape and the skin becomes more pale as he scrapes the ladle around the cauldron, and then he hears her excited gasp from the other side of the room when his hair transforms from blond to black.  As he caps the last vial and sets it on a rack, he turns to face her, and she leaps onto him, pushing him back against the carpet.

"Bloody hell, love," he laughs, "you've winded me!"  But despite his protest, there's glee on his face as she kisses him, and he immediately rolls her over in a crushing embrace.  "How long was it?" he asks, twisting to see the time on her alarm clock.

"Too long," she murmurs, pulling him back down for a heated kiss.  "Far, _far_ too long."

* * *

In contrast, it doesn't take Vance or Bones or Moody long to swing into action and Severus can feel the tremor in his legs as he peruses his copy of the Daily Prophet at the breakfast table in the Great Hall a few short days later.  There's a sweeping whisper around the tables, and Slughorn glances at him a little anxiously, whilst Severus toys with his coffee mug.

"Did you know about this?"

 _Yes_.  

Severus shakes his head.  "No."

"I don't know what Fudge is thinking," Slughorn murmurs, reading the article over and over.  "A raid!  An arrest is one thing.  Questioning is another.  But a raid!"

"Is that where Dumbledore is this morning?"

"Yes."

Severus exhales.  "Thought so."

"There'll be a coup if Fudge isn't careful.  This sort of heavy-handed behaviour causes disgruntlement within the movers and the shakers of our world."  Slughorn folds his edition of the paper, and then stands, clapping his hands together.  "Enough!" he bellows, causing all of the tables to turn and stare at him, their gossip briefly halted.  "Class begins in ten minutes.  Breakfast is over."  He pointedly stares at the Gryffindor table.  "For those of you attending Potions this morning, I advise you not to be late into the dungeons.  Tardiness shall be punished by means of taking house points, and," he says, turning to face the Slytherin table, his eyes boring into each and everyone one of his students, "I will personally be affronted if I have to remove points from my own house.  Do I make myself clear?"

He exits in a grand billow of robes, striding between the tables and out of the main doors, and both tables of students stand in shock, pushing books into their bags, and uneaten toast into their pockets.  In Slughorn's wake, Severus stares helplessly at the arrested man on the front page - the young man's eyes wide, his teeth bared, and even in the black and white newspaper ink, Severus can see the deep contrast between the striped Azkaban prison robes and the youth's mop of fair hair.

"I know it's a shock, Severus," Professor McGonagall says, resting a firm hand on his shoulder, "but as Horace says, you really must pull yourself together when you're in front of the students."

"...he was in my house," Severus says, quietly.  "Another Slytherin taken for Azkaban.  He'll be Kissed, won't he?"

She sniffs, and pulls herself upright.  "The darkest amongst us forget that even their own wings can be clipped."  

"Is that all you'll think will happen, Prof- Minerva?  Given his father's standing?  Not Kissed?  There's hope for him?"

"Hope?"  She scoffs, and then lowers her voice.  "His father's status may have saved him from a few scrapes up until now," she whispers, "but from what Dumbledore tells me, there is blood in the water, and the sharks are circling - and his father is amongst them.  They will do whatever is deemed necessary to stamp out the rise of darkness within our world."

He takes a shuddering breath, and she grips him more tightly - understanding his relieved reaction to be misery.

"I'm sorry, Severus," she says, "I know Crouch was an acquaintance of yours when you were a student, but," and she gestures towards the rest of the Great Hall, "as we always say, the show here must go on.  Business as usual.  The students need to be taught.  Do join Horace in the dungeons, and put this sorry state of affairs from your mind."

"Yes, Minerva, I shall.  Thank you for your kind words."  He stands, brushing crumbs from his robes, and as he moves to descend from the stage, she stops him, her hand gripping his.

"And Severus?"

"Yes, Minerva?

"If you drew back from such..."  She pauses, and then continues evenly, staring at a spot over his shoulder instead of into his eyes, "then you are to be congratulated.  Such affiliation - it is a sickness.  An affliction."

He's lost for words.  "I…don't, I..."

"Don't play games," she says, sternly.  "I know your history, Severus.  Horace…" She draws in a deep breath.  "He tries - oh how he _tries_ \- but the forces within Slytherin…"  She shakes her head, finding herself unwilling to say more.  "It's time for class.  Dismissed, Severus."

"Yes, Professor," he says, almost tripping on his robes in his haste to depart.


	60. Date night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi - many apologies for the brief hiatus on the story - it was unplanned, and then went on for a little longer than I anticipated.
> 
> When I came back (as those of you on Tumblr know), I took the opportunity to clean up the chapters before adding any new ones, so if you read back at any stage, you might notice that there have been a few subtle changes. I stress that you don't *need* to read back - all of the changes were stylistic or corrections to typos etc. - I was very careful not to alter the plot. (Although I will admit to correcting a mistake where I referred to the wrong Lestrange brother in a previous chapter, ahem).
> 
> Anyway, I just wanted to say thanks for your patience, and we should now be back on course now for the usual update schedule. If you continue to read the story from this point, thank you for sticking with it, and I really hope you enjoy it going forwards.
> 
> ...and here's a nice gentle chapter to ease us in. :)

* * *

It's warm in the Ministry - uncomfortably so - and Severus pulls at the neck of his robes as he makes his way over to the lifts on the far side of the atrium.  He glances at the gaudy signage overhead, which indicates that all of the lifts are between floors and in use, and he sighs heavily - until he notices that the lift furthest away from him is open and awaiting custom, with a bored looking lift attendant standing in the corner of it.

"Broken?" Severus calls.

"Just the sign," the young lift attendant shouts back.  "Makes for a boring day.  I've lost count of how many people have stood around watching the screens instead of asking."

Severus spots a throng of middle aged workers heading towards him, so he hastens his step, and enters the vacant lift.

"And which floor would we be heading to this afternoon, sir?"

"Errr," Severus starts, scrabbling in his pocket for the piece of parchment that contains the office's address.

"Which floor, sir?"

"Just wait," Severus snaps, "I'm looking."

"Calm down, Snape," the lift attendant huffs, tapping the sign which says that all workers must be prepared to announce their intended floor when entering the lift.  "Only doing my job."

When the lift attendant uses his name, Severus pays him a little more attention - and suddenly, he recognises the dense brush of freckles across the youth's face.  "...it's Wallace, isn't it?"

Wallace grins.  "It is!  Didn't think you knew me."

"The amount of time I spent in the hospital wing," Severus mutters, "I thought we were practically on first name terms."

"Devon," Wallace says, "if you'd like to be…"  He pauses.  "It's Severus, isn't it?"

Severus nods.  "Didn't expect to see you here, Devon.  Weren't you hoping to be a healer?"

"Mungos is oversubscribed," he says, quietly.  "Doing this for a few months, until the next intake."  He straightens.  "I don't mind.  Gives me chance to work on my application."

"Right."

"Heard you were back at Hogwarts."

"Yeah."

"Say hello to Pomfrey for me, will you?"

"Course," Severus says.

"Found that floor yet?"

Severus colours slightly, and resumes picking through his pockets.  "Sorry-"

"-just tell me the department," Wallace grins.  "I've memorised them all anyway."

"Magical Accidents and Catastrophes."

"Been in some strife, have you?  No surprise if what I've heard-"

"No," Severus interjects quickly.  "Meeting a friend."

"In MAC?"  Wallace frowns as the lift pulls into action.  "Can't think who you might know in MAC, Severus.  Penrose is a right duffer, and Boot-"

"Avery."

"Oh," Wallace says, his voice even.  "I forgot you were-" - but the lift interrupts him by binging loudly, indicating that they've reached Severus' destination, and the doors clatter open.

"Good to see you, Wallace," Severus calls over his shoulder, as he strides down the corridor.  "I'll remember you to Pomfrey!" 

* * *

"Well," Avery says, eagerly.  "What do you think?"

"I'm impressed," Severus replies, inspecting the ornaments on the mantelpiece, and then tapping the wooden fireplace.   _Solid oak_.  "They've given you your own Floo."

"I know."

"In _and_ out?"

"Yes.  And get this - out with no restrictions," Avery says, with a smirk, "but only authorised personnel in."

"Made the big time," Severus says.  "Congratulations."

"I thank you," Avery grins.  "Do take a seat, young sir."

Severus chuckles and takes the chair opposite Avery's desk.  The desk is grand and clean and tidy, and when he remembers the state of Avery's flat, Severus can't help but wonder how long it will take until it - and this office - is in a similar state of disarray.

"I didn't think you'd get the time off work to come and see me," Avery says.

"Sluggy's usually in a good mood on a Friday," Severus explains, "and I think he's pleased to hear that one of his Slytherins is climbing the ranks in the Ministry.  You know what he's like - he'll be writing to you and asking for favours next."  

"I wouldn't mind for old Sluggy," Avery says, levitating a bottle of firewhisky and two tumblers towards his desk.  "He was always pretty decent to me.  Not like Flitwick - now he was three foot of pure monster.  ...do you see him at all?"

"Not so much in the dungeons, no."  Severus shakes his head as he sees the whisky bottle advancing towards them.  "Ah, Ave, it's a bit early."

"Nonsense," Avery says, dismissively.  "You're celebrating with me!"  

He pours out a measure for both of them, and Severus accepts the proffered glass, sniffing the whisky before imbibing.   _Can't be too careful_.

"Smells good, doesn't it?" Avery says, turning the bottle over in his hands and peering at the label.  "Says here it's got overtones of marmalade and grass, hints of citrus and stewed apple, all met with a sherry finish," and he sniffs the contents of his own glass, "but I can't get any of that.  Smells like vanilla to me."

"Yeah, well, they'll tell you anything," Severus says, sipping the alcohol.  "I've had enough at Malf's to know that what's on the label doesn't always match with what's in the bottle."  He sips again and then smiles.  "Whatever's in it, it tastes marvellous though."

"Better than one of Malfoy's?"

"Well," Severus says, carefully, not wanting to be disloyal to his old friend, "I've had a lot at Malf's."  He catches sight of Avery's fallen expression, and he quickly adds, "This is definitely up with the best though.  You've got an eye for it, Ave.  Good choice."

"I didn't choose it."

"No?  A gift?  Who from?"

"The Minister himself."

"From Fudge?"  Severus arches an eyebrow and leans back, looking impressed.  "Well _done_ , Ave."  He rests the glass on his knee.  "Anyone else been down to see you?"

"Reggie wrote to me," Ave says, clicking his fingers and summoning an envelope.  He passes it to Severus.  "Read it, if you want."

Severus does, and it's boring - a staid and dull congratulatory notice from an even duller friend.  "...rather reserved, isn't he?"

Avery snorts.  "Yeah.  But at least he bothered."

"Nothing from Mulc?"

"Nor Ros.  Pair of arseholes."  He grimaces, and sips his whisky.  "Jealous, I think."

"Definitely," Severus agrees - and although he's sure that they both know the idea of Mulciber or Rosier being jealous of Avery's new poky office in the Magical Accidents and Catastrophes department is nonsense, Avery looks cheered.  

"Thanks Sev.  I knew you'd be pleased for me."  

"Ave," Severus starts, looking a little concerned, "about Mulc and Ros…"

Avery bristles.  "What about them?"

"They haven't pushed you out because of me, have they?"

"No."

Severus places his glass back on the table, and leans forward.  "I'm serious, Ave.  I don't want to come between you and your other friends.  I can step back if it's a problem-"

"No!"  Avery sounds alarmed.  "No, Sev, it's not you.  You've been great!  It's them.  They've always been like this," he grumbles.  "Too busy clapping each other on the back, and when it's my turn for something…"  He straightens.  "Truth be told, I'm glad to have you."  He seems as if he's going to say something else, but it's as if he changes his mind, choosing to raise his glass in the air instead.  "Forget them.  Here's to us."

"To us?  I didn't do anything," Severus laughs.  He raises his own glass.  "To _you_ , Ave," he says, emphatically, "and your continued success."

* * *

Severus quietly reads the Daily Prophet as Avery busies himself behind his desk - there's a few pieces of parchment to sign, and the occasional letter which comes whizzing through the air for him to read through and file - but as he watches Avery opening and shutting the same desk drawers for the fifth time, yet neither putting anything in or taking anything out, Severus has the overwhelming feeling that Avery's new grand job is little more than a title.

"Prefer this to being out on the streets?"

Avery looks up.  "What?  Being behind a desk?"

"Yeah."

"...it's warmer," he says, with a soft laugh.  He bounces on the chair.  "And comfier."

"Thought you were someone who liked to get his hands dirty, that's all."

Avery leans forward keenly, lowering his voice.  "Funny you should say that."  He glances over his shoulder.  "It was felt that this would...complement my other role."

Severus frowns.  "I'm not following."

"You know."

"...no, Ave," Severus says, softly.  "I don't.  That's why I'm asking."

"I thought you knew?"

 _This is going to be another long afternoon_ , Severus thinks, with a sudden pang of sympathy for Mulciber and Rosier.

"Knew _what_ , Ave?"

"I'm a," and Avery lowers his voice to little more than a whisper, "Striker."

"You'rea Striker?" Severus exclaims.

"Shhhh!"  Avery looks alarmed, glancing at the door fearfully.  "Keep your voice down, Sev!"

"Sorry," Severus whispers.  

"Not everyone here is aligned to our way of thinking, remember?"  He gives a quick grin.  "...yet."

"You surprised me, that's all."

"Yeah?"  Avery's voice has a defensive tone to it.  "Thought you believed in me."

"I do."

"You sound like the rest of them," he says, angrily, fishing in his pocket, and pulling out a badge, slamming it on the desk in front of Severus.  "See."

Severus picks the silver badge up, and turns it over in his hands, marvelling at how the snake is poised to attack.  "Impressive."

"Yeah.  Flash that, and you can get in anywhere."

"Get you," Severus smirks.  "Avery the mini-auror."

"Reckon Strikers are better," he says.

"Not as many rules?"

"Something like that.  It's the exact opposite of this sort of work," he says, taking the badge back, and indicating to his office.

"I get it now," Severus says, "why they've moved you off incident reversals."

Avery smiles.  "Looking after their Striker volunteers, that's all.  I can't go round clearing up after Muggles during the day, and hit the streets at night."

"Good job that chair's comfy," Severus says, with a grin.  

"Yeah, I should get a kip or two in," Avery laughs.  He pauses, as if he's thinking something through, and then he lowers his voice again.  "You should try and get in on it."

"Become a…"

"Yeah.  One of us."

He shakes his head.  "I've got my apprenticeship, remember?"

"They'd work something out.  You could ask Sluggy to let you start later or reduced hours or," and Avery looks pleased, "what about weekends?  You don't do any apprenticeship work at weekends, do you?"  

_No, but I spend every second I can with my fiancée._

"I appreciate you trying, Ave, but they wouldn't have me.  Too well known with the do gooders.  What use would I be roaming around Hogsmeade with Potter or Black tailing me?"

Avery gives a soft laugh.  "By all accounts, you really upset them when you ditched your Mudblood, you know."

"I know."

"Anyway, it doesn't have to be there.  There's more places than Hogsmeade and the Magic Alleys."

"Yeah?"

"They could put you on Muggle stuff with me."

"Muggle stuff?"  Severus raises an eyebrow.  "Like what?"

"Come with me on Saturday," Avery says, with a grin, "and I'll show you."

* * *

"The meat's lovely and tender," David says, pausing in the middle of his evening meal.  "Thank you, Rose."

"Thanks Mummy," Lily dutifully echoes.  She knocks her knee pointedly against Severus' under the table when he remains silent.

"Hmm?"  He looks blankly at Lily, and she pointedly stares at her plate and then her mother.  "Oh.  Oh!  Yes, it's nice.  Thank you."

"You're welcome," Rose says, casting a glance at David that Lily can't quite work out the meaning of.  "I thought we could get a few more things for the little one tomorrow," Rose adds.

Lily shoots a stricken look towards Severus.  "I'm not sure we've got enough money at the moment."

"I've got your jar still.  From when you were working with Dung," Severus says, slowly.  "But I need chance to get it converted at Gringotts.  I've changed some, but I can't do too much at once - it'll set a flag off if I have a sudden need for Muggle money."

"We were saving that," she says.  "I thought we could use that to get a place for the three of us."

He shifts awkwardly in his seat.  "I was thinking…  I might ask Malf to help us."

"You can't run to Lucius every time we get into trouble."

His shoulders tighten, and he lowers his voice.  "What else do you want me to do?  I can't ask Jigger for a raise, can I?  This move to Hogwarts has been an all-inclusive deal.  Room and board all in.  He'll want to know what I've been spending it on."

"And what will you tell him?" Lily hisses.  "Your unborn child, or the endless evenings out?"

"That's not-"  He looks at David and Rose who are fixedly looking at their plates, and then he reaches for Lily's hand, but she pulls away.  "Lil, that isn't fair, and you know it."

"No?  You've turned up here tonight stinking of firewhisky-"

"I've had one!"

"Kids," Rose interjects, gently, "we know money is tight.  We're happy to help-"

"No," Severus says, gruffly.  "This is my family."

Rose shoots David a quick glance, before trying again.  "...it was difficult for us too, when we first got together."

"Let us help you," David says, firmly.  "And if you want to pay me back in the future, Severus, then we can arrange that.  A loan, with a proper payment schedule."

"We can go up into the city in the car tomorrow," Rose says.  "It'll do the four of us good to get out of Cokeworth for a family trip.  I've made a list of things that will see you through those first few months."

"And as we're out doing that all day," David adds, "I'll shout us to a takeaway on the way home.  No washing up, so you girls can have a cup of tea and a chat, and I can see if the pool shark here can teach me a few tricks in the pub over a pint afterwards.  What do you say, Severus?"

"...I can't."

"What do you mean, you can't?" Lily objects.

Severus winces.  "I'm seeing Avery tomorrow night."

"I think we can all see where Severus' priorities are," Lily snaps.

"It's not about what I want!"

"You promised you'd be here at the weekends, and now all of a sudden, Avery is more important."

Severus looks annoyed.  "You do realise that Crouch is-"

"I know," she says, quickly, her eyes widening - and it's as if she's imploring him not to carry on this topic in front of her parents.

He gives a slight jerk of his head.  "And how do you think it would look if I suddenly dropped Avery?  Bit suspicious, hey?"

She glances at her parents again.  "What does Avery have to do with Crouch?"

This time, it's Severus who looks at David and Rose, and then David suddenly stands.

"I think we'll wash up," David announces, carrying his plate into the kitchen.

Rose follows suit, squeezing Lily on the shoulder as she passes.  "There's dessert in the fridge if you want some later."

They sit in silence for several minutes, and then, to his horror, Severus notices a tear falling down her cheek.  "Oh, Lil," he says, reaching for her hand more insistently this time, and feeling relieved when she accepts it.  "I'd do anything to be here with you instead of with them, love.  I thought you knew that.  ...Avery got a new job, and I had to go and see him.  Congratulate him.  That's why I've had a drink - just one, in his new office at the Ministry." 

"It's like we're living two different lives."

"I know, love."

"And it's only going to get worse when Bean's here, isn't it?  We'll be here, and you'll be there, and-"

"No," Severus says.  "You and Bean are both coming to Hogwarts with me.  You'll be able to use Polyjuice then."

"...I don't think we'll be able to keep Bean hidden," she says, concern filling her voice.  "Dumbledore will find out, and maybe Sluggy, and then-"

"I'll work something out," Severus says, solemnly.  "Let me talk to Malf-"

"-don't tell him about Bean."

Severus runs his hands over his face.  "But if I do-"

"Don't, Sev."

"-he might have a solution."

Lily reaches for him again, taking his hand and squeezing it.  "He might, but look what he did to Crouch.  He might stand by you, Sev, but he doesn't have that same loyalty to me.  Look what he told the aurors!"

"He didn't know you then."

"He knew I was your girlfriend," she says, "and that wasn't enough to stop him."

Severus looks pained.  "He wouldn't do it now.  I think he regrets it."  

"And what use is regret to us after he's told someone about our child?"

There's a pause whilst Severus considers this, and then he nods.  "I promise I won't tell him."

They sit together in silence, and then Lily squeezes his hand again.

"So," she says, her tone jovial, but he can tell it's forced, "date night with Avery?  Should I be jealous?"

He laughs, and stands, and pulls her into a tight embrace.  "Absolutely not, love.  Absolutely not."

* * *

They spend Saturday afternoon roaming around the grey and drizzly city centre, and he tries to not to yawn as yet another set of genderless baby clothes are held aloft.  At one point, presumably as bored as Severus is, David drags him over to a toy shop, and after far longer than is strictly necessary testing out toy hammers and toy pots and pans, Severus finds himself carrying out a plastic shapes game.

"What else have you got?" Lily says, as she turns over the box and looking at the brightly coloured shapes.  "Don't pretend, Sev," she laughs, "I can see the bag."

He hands it over, and she smiles when she sees the wooden train and track in the bottom.  "I hope you're playing this with Bean," she says.  "I never understood the attraction of pushing a train endlessly around a track."

"Not even if you can pretend it's the Hogwarts Express?"

Her expression softens.  "But this is blue."

"Not for long," he whispers.  "I reckon I can magic that up later."  He points at a piece in the bag.  "Think she'll make a good trolley lady?" he asks, kissing Lily's cheek before she rests her head against his shoulder, and both of them miss the relieved smiles her parents share behind them.

* * *

He carries the bags of clothes and toys and more practical items upstairs to Petunia's old room, which is now more like a cross between a nursery and a storage unit than the twee teenage room full of posters of Muggle pop stars that he recalls from his youth, and then he heads back downstairs, and wolfs down his takeaway, finishing much earlier than the rest of the family.  He makes his reluctant excuses, apologising for rising from the table before anyone else has finished, and feeling more than a little awkward at having rebuffed his father-in-law-to-be's hand of friendship that evening.

"I'm sorry about the pint," he says.  "I would've liked to play."

"It's fine, Severus."

"Are you coming back?" Lily asks.

"I don't know when Avery'll finish up.  Might be late."

"Come anyway."

He kisses her cheek.  "Only if you promise not to wait up."

She glances at her parents.  "I'll leave the window open."

"No," David says, sternly.  He gets up from his half-eaten meal, and takes his house key off his keychain.  "Take this, and don't lose it."  He sits back down and shakes his head.  "Climbing up drainpipes," he tuts, "you'll have the neighbours calling in a burglary."

At this, Severus' eyes widen slightly.  "Yeah, don't want that."  He pockets the key.  "Thanks, I'll keep it safe," he says, and then kisses Lily's cheek again.  "See you later, love."

* * *

It's almost jarring to be thrown from the very Muggle afternoon he's enjoyed into the collection of wizards gathered on the walls of York.  They're all dressed as Muggles, but their wands are visible, and the conversations are all wizarding in nature.  He stands with them for several minutes, the other wizards talking and laughing around him, but nobody speaks to him.  With nothing better to do, his attention is drawn to a plaque, and within moments, he's engrossed in the tale of Roman conquest - until Avery grabs him by the scruff of the neck and yanks him up.  

"Stop that," Avery hisses.

"I was just reading!"

"Yeah, reading Muggle shit."  

Severus shrugs.  "Might come in useful."

"Might come in useful!" he hears another wizard scoff.

Avery scowls and drags Severus further away from the group.  "Look, Sev, I know you're into learning anything and everything, but not everyone here is like that."

"No?"

"Just follow me," he says, and the pair of them rejoin the group.

* * *

They stroll through the streets for hours, and it's unclear to Severus what the aim of the group is.  There's seven of them, and they all pass for reasonable Muggles - jeans and shirts, polished shoes, hair gel and aftershave - to anyone looking twice, they're just a group of men out on a Saturday night.

They venture into a bar or two, and that's when Severus notices the wizards messing with the patrons - a drink is Accio'd down the bar when its owner visits the toilet, the fruit machine refuses to pay out when the jackpot is won, and the jukebox is forced onto repeat.  Little things.

And that's when Severus realises that they've been following the same group all evening - there's a Muggle with cropped dark hair, and another with a moustache, and one with a tucked in shirt, and as the men are subtly foiled - a trip here, a nudge in the arm whilst carrying drinks from the bar there, a packet of nuts that explodes open instead of tearing neatly - their rage grows.

He thinks, when they finally step out into the street, that there's going to be a fight.  He can feel it in the air; their fury is palpable, and it's only a matter of minutes before one of the Muggles turns to them and picks an argument - taking a dislike to their attire, or their accent - but to his surprise, Avery jogs over to them first, and somehow, there's a brick in his hand.   _Where did he get a brick from?_

"Fucking rip off," Avery says, "them in there," and he points to the pub they've just left.  "I saw what happened with the jukebox."

"Yeah?" says the Muggle with the moustache.

"They were messing with you all night."

One of the other wizards jogs to catch Avery up.  "Can't have that, lads."

"We could fuck them up," Avery offers.

"Yeah, we could."  The other wizard points at the rest - Severus included.  "There's enough of us."

The Muggles look at each other, and cautiously nod, and the group makes its way back towards the bar.  Before any of them can step forward, Avery launches the brick towards the window - and there's a scream, and a shout, and then the men charge at the building.

It's not a quick fight.  It's vicious, and loud - glasses shatter, and punches are thrown, and Severus is glad that he's fought with his fists before.  He dodges and dives around the action at first, but when a fist connects with his ear from behind, the rage builds inside him, and he picks up a pool cue and smashes it, before swinging it wildly towards the presumed perpetrator.

Inevitably, the police are called, but this time, he's prepared and both he and Avery grab their wands with bloodied hands - but just as he's about to Disapparate, Avery pulls him into a firm embrace, and he's dragged into Avery's swirl of Disapparation instead of creating one of his own.

* * *

"What," Severus pants, squatting down on his heels and pressing his palms to his bleeding head, "the fuck was that all about?"

"Stay there," Avery says, holding his wand out and pointing it straight at the laceration on Severus' forehead.  "Move your hands."

"I'll sort it, Ave."

"No," he barks, swatting Severus' hands away.  "I've got it."  And then he casts, and Severus can feel the broken skin knitting together in a sudden, sharp pull.  

"Fuck!"

"Hurts, doesn't it?"

Severus swipes his hand across his head, checking to see if it's stopped bleeding.  "How often have you used that spell?"

"Few times," Avery says, rolling up his sleeves, and showing Severus a handful of scars.  "Muggle had a knife that night."  He pauses.  "That's why I was asking you.  For your spell."

Severus stands, a little shakily, and leans against Avery's hallway wall, his legs still weak - from the blood loss, from the surge of adrenaline, he's not quite sure.

"Sit down," Avery says, pointing at the front room.  "I'll get us a drink."

* * *

Severus slumps on the sofa, casting at the wizarding wireless until it plays a tune he doesn't find completely offensive to his ears, and steadily works his way through Avery's stash of high alcohol Butterbeer.

"I should've told you more."

"Yeah," Severus says.  "I didn't know we were going for a fight."  He looks at Avery.  "He hit me on the back of the head.  That's not Queensberry."

"What's Queensberry?"

"Never mind," he says, opening another bottle.  "What I don't get, Ave…"

"Yeah?"

"Is what that has to do with being a Striker?"

Avery smiles, and sits forward.  "The ones you know," he says, "are like aurors."

"Yeah, sweeping the streets of the Alleys, stopping the sale of potions or street whores-"

"Unauthorised sales," Avery corrects.

"Yeah, same thing," Severus smirks.  "It's a racket.  If you pay enough money to the Ministry, the Ministry lets you do what you want."

"And here's to Madam Mary and her overflowing purse," Avery laughs, raising his bottle in the air.

Severus matches his salute, and then sips from his bottle.  "Aurors could do that though, couldn't they?  Keep the miscreants of Knockturn Alley in line?"

"Aurors are busy catching dark wizards."  Avery laughs even more loudly.  "Strikers get to enforce the laws a little more creatively," he says.

"I know Strikers beat people up-"

"-it's not about beating people up," Avery huffs.  "It's a little correction, that's all.  Saves time in the courts.  Saves paperwork."  He grins.  "We're saving the Ministry money."

"Did Dung stop paying?"

Avery looks surprised.  "Dung?  Mundungus Fletcher?"

"Yeah.  Used to see him a lot."

Avery raises an eyebrow.  "Did you really, Sev?"  He elbows him.  "Got something you need to confess to me?  In my professional capacity as a Striker, that is?"

 _Shit_.  

"When I used to pop down Madam Mary's," Severus says, quickly.  "Before you and me were hanging out - but now that we go together, I haven't seen him.  Not the last few weeks."

"Yeah," Avery nods.  "He had that patch sewn up for a while."

"Bribed a Striker, you mean?"

"It's not just money.  You've got to be in with the right people."  Avery shrugs.  "Looks like Fletcher fell out with someone in the big time.  I'd have guessed Malfoy, but you'd know that if it was the case."

"Nah," Severus says, dismissively.  "Don't see much of Malf these days."

"No?"

"Got better friends now."

At this, Avery smiles broadly.  "Yeah, Sev.  Yeah, you have."  He gives Severus a sharp look.  "Think Malfoy's gone a bit quiet with all this Crouch stuff.  He seems to have gone underground."

 _Oh fuck_.

Severus strives to keep his voice even when he speaks.  "...Malf was involved in whatever happened with Crouch?"

Avery shakes his head.  "Not in what happened.  Least, I don't think so."  He leans in conspiratorially.  "Between us, Malfoy's been asked to stump up for the defence."

"Crouch's defence?"  Severus sits forwards on the seat, his mouth agape.  "I didn't think they even knew each other.  Crouch was younger than us, and Malf was barely at Hogwarts when we were there."

Avery pauses, as if mulling something over.  "It's not to do with knowing him.  ...he's gone a bit tight, Malfoy," he says, quietly.  "Let's just say it's got less to do with being a good friend, and more about being a good brother of the movement.  Putting his money where his mouth is."

Severus takes another sip of his drink.  "But if even Crouch's own father is against him, won't that cast a light of suspicion on Malf if he defends him?  Won't that make the Prophet start looking at Malf as if he's a dark wizard?"

"He _is_ a dark wizard."

"So are we," Severus hisses.  "Fuck, Ave!  First Crouch, then Malf, then who?  You and me with our names in the Prophet?"

Avery laughs.  "Don't worry about it, Sev.  Fuck him, Malfoy's a dick anyway.  Like you said, you've got me now and I've got friends in high places - I'll look after you."

"...thanks, Ave."

"And now you've seen what those Muggles are like, you're going to share that knife spell with me, aren't you?"

_Do I have a choice?_

"I just don't understand," Severus swerves, evading the question, "if Strikers are vigilante law enforcers, then what was tonight about?"

"Bit of unrest," Avery says.

"...bit of unrest?"

Avery shoots him a dark look.  "This goes no further?"

"I promise."

"There's more coming.  Big things.  Bigger things.  And what we need is a bunch of communities who have turned on each other."

"But that was just some drunken guys.  That's not a community turning on itself - that's just a handful of idiots."

Avery shakes his head.  "Come on, Sev, we're better organised than that.  The Muggle with the shaved head?  His father's the...I don't know, can't remember, some Muggle thing.  Important."

"A businessman?"

"No, politics."

"Councillor?  Mayor?"  Severus pales.  "Not the MP?"

"Yeah, that's it!"

Severus exhales loudly.  "And now the MP will be dragged into a court case?  Because his son's been arrested for inciting violence in a bar?"

"Inciting violence?  He wishes."  Avery takes a swig of his drink.  "Nah, he'll go down for murder."

 _Someone died_.

Severus knows his voice is strained when he speaks again.  "It'll cause a riot."

"Probably."  

"A court case, and the media…"  Severus trails off.  "It'll be ugly there for months."

"Our work is done!"  Avery grins.  "The Muggles will fight amongst themselves."  He leans in to Severus.  "And imagine this all over the country - fights, squabbles, neighbour against neighbour."  And then Avery grins.  "And then we graciously offer to step in and help them out."  

"Help the Muggles out?"

"Yes," Avery nods.  "Because it won't be like when the statute was broken before.  This time they'll be oh so grateful to us, their new wizarding overlords."  He raises his bottle in the air.  "And I'm happy to drink to that!"

* * *

Avery offers him the sofa for what's left of the night, but he makes his excuses.  When he lands in Cokeworth, he's shaking - he's not sure if it's the shock of the fight, or Avery's revelations, or the alcohol he's consumed, or the aftermath of his injury - but he's glad he doesn't have to scale the drainpipe.

He lets himself into the Evans house, and kicks his boots off at the door, moving silently through the house in his socked feet until he reaches Lily's bedroom.

"Hey," he whispers when he enters and sees her sitting upright in bed.  "You shouldn't have waited up."

"I woke up because I needed the toilet," she says, "and I couldn't get back to sleep.  I was worried about you.  Where've you been?"

"It's not for you to worry about," he says, but when she pulls him to her and she sees the bloodstains on his shirt and the freshly healed gash on his forehead, she gasps.

"Sev, you're hurt."

"I'm ok.  Don't fret, love," he whispers, holding her tightly in his arms.  "I'll sort it."

"No," she says, firmly, pulling the covers around them both, "whatever this is, _we'll_ sort it together."


	61. First choice

He wakes, and stretches, and immediately groans when his body protests his movements - his ribs ache, and his head is pounding, and there's a swathe of ugly bruises developing over his knuckles.  He's dreading easing himself out of bed and having to face Lily's parents, but just as he's mustering the courage, the bedroom door swings open, and Lily stands there with two mugs of tea.

"I thought I heard you grumbling," she teases, moving towards him and holding out his cup.

He reaches for it, and immediately wishes he hadn't - and at his dramatic wince, her face falls.

"Sev?"

"I'll be ok," he says.  "Could do with some of those pain potions I've got back at Hogwarts."

"I've got paracetamol," she offers, and he huffs a soft laugh as she shakes the bottle, the pills inside rattling.  

"Anything."  He holds his hand out and she tips two tablets into his outstretched palm.

"And if you promise to stay here and rest instead of running back to Hogwarts," she says, "I'll see what I can whip up on the potions front."

He knocks the tablets back, and swigs his tea, and then lies his head back on the pillow.  "What would I do without you, love?" he murmurs, his eyelids fluttering closed.

* * *

When he wakes, he heads for a shower, and then spends the afternoon sitting cross-legged on the floor of her bedroom, wand in hand, adapting each piece of the train and its accompanying track until it's beautifully painted.  Finally, he picks up the most important piece of the set - the wooden engine - and he carefully casts a series of Transfiguration spells on it, slowly changing the paintwork from bright blue to regal red, with black and gold accents.

"What do you think?" he says, leaning back and holding it up for Lily to see.

"Looks accurate," she says, dismissively.

He twists around, grunting as a bolt of pain shoots through his neck, and he looks at her anxiously.  "That good, hey?"

"I said it looks accurate, Sev."

"I know," he mutters, "but you said it in a tone that suggests Bean will hate it."

She stops what she's doing, and wipes her hands on a towel before casting at the cauldron to stop it from boiling over.  She takes the toy train from him and holds it in the air, inspecting it from every angle.  "It's perfect," she says, leaning down to kiss him.  "Bean will love it."  

"Good."  He reaches up to kiss her more insistently, and she laughs against his lips.  

"I knew this was what you were up to when you were fishing for compliments.  Don't you start distracting me."

"Why not?" he murmurs.  "I've finished painting now."

"But I'm still working," she says, "I've got a patient waiting for pain relief."

"Really?  I've heard he wants a different type of relief," and he gives a sinful laugh.

"Get on the bed," she says, playfully, "and I'll see if the doctor has got time to give you a once over when she brings through your potions."

With that, his eyebrows raise, and although he grunts as his body protests, he heaves himself back up onto the bed and eagerly awaits the end of her brewing.

* * *

By teatime, he's feeling a little stronger - his ribs still ache, but her pain potions have worked wonders.  Purple and yellow bruises marr his knuckles, but the only remedies she can find for those take several days to brew.  She offers to cover them with foundation from her make-up bag, but he looks so angry throughout her attempt, she gives up, and he quickly washes his hands to rid his skin of the beige concealer.

She keeps her word, and strips him of his clothes, before checking each and every mark on his body.  He thinks it's a game and permits her to inspect him thoroughly, but she's quietly relieved he made such a suggestion, as it's given her an excuse to check his body, and to ensure he can't hide anything from her.

Her gentle treatment is soothing, despite his aches, and in combination with the relaxing nature of the pain remedies, he finds himself falling asleep under her touch.  When he awakens half an hour later, he mutters about a wasted opportunity, and his scowl is so deep, she can't help but take pity on him, resuming her slow and considered massage of his body.  He's less patient this time around, squirming under her hands and trying to get her to fondle his cock - and when she skirts around his groin, teasing him, he reaches down and gently hooks her hair behind her ear.  

She gives him a puzzled look at his intervention in her game.

"I want to see your face," he murmurs, by way of explanation, and then he threads his fingers through her hair, holding her thick locks firmly at the back of her head.  "Suck me."

She can't help but giggle at his determination, despite his injured state, but then she does as he wishes, and it's not long until his deep scowl is replaced with a look of contentment.

* * *

When they finally venture downstairs, he hobbles from one step to the next, but there's a smile on his face as he eases himself carefully onto one of the dining chairs.

They eat in relative silence, and although Severus is much improved from the state he was in when he arrived in the middle of the night, his appearance - so changed from a mere 24 hours earlier - has evidently unnerved her parents.  They share anxious glances, and Severus assumes that the only reason they haven't quizzed him over his injuries is because Lily has begged them not to. Unusually, it takes him far longer to eat his meal than anyone else, and he's still struggling with his dessert when David breaks the silence.  

"This Avery boy is trouble then?"

"Daddy," Lily weakly protests.

"It's all right, Lil," Severus interrupts.  "It's not just Avery," he says.  "They're all trouble.  I'm not doing this out of choice."

Rose looks anxiously at David.  "Severus, what has Professor Dumbledore got over you that means you're having to do... _this_."

Severus glances at Lily.  "There's some trouble," he says, slowly, stirring his rice pudding.  "David, you asked me a while ago if they didn't let Lily do the same things as me because of sexism."

"Sev, they don't-"

"I think they need to know, love."

"Know what?" David prompts.

"It's not sexism.  It's not because she's a woman," Severus says, angrily.  "It's blood.  ...they don't let Lily do things because she has…"

"Us as parents," Rose finishes.

David looks as Severus quizzically.  "It's not the same for you?  With your father?"

"His mum is magic enough," Lily says, simply.

Rose sighs.  "Oh Lily, why didn't you say anything?"

"We thought it was temporary," Lily says, quietly.  "There were always problems - a few fights at school, but nothing we couldn't handle."

"But now it's worse," Severus adds.  "Much worse.  There's regulations and all sorts.  She can't work.  Can't do anything really."

David's voice shakes with barely suppressed rage.  " _That's_ why you left your Ministry job?"

"...yes."

He turns to Severus.  "And that's why you were working at the pub as well as studying?"

Severus nods.

"And how does Professor Dumbledore fit into all of this?" Rose asks, a little more calmly than her husband.

Lily takes Severus' hand.  "Eat your pudding, it's going cold," she says to him, stroking the back of his injured knuckles, before looking at her mother.  "He offered me a chance of doing my apprenticeship for real - under my old potions teacher, Professor Slughorn."

"I remember him.  He liked you, if your report was anything to go by."

"He did.  He does."

David frowns.  "But if you can't work-"  

"There's a potion you can take, and it makes you look like someone else.  So Severus let me pretend to be him, but-" and she pauses, roaming her hands over their baby.

Rose nods.  "It's not safe to use the potion with the baby."

"And the price of Lily's apprenticeship was your willingness, Severus, to do…"  David waves his hand.

"Yes," Severus says, through mouthfuls. 

 _It's close enough to the truth_.  

"High price."

"Nothing's too high for Lily," Severus says, immediately - and although he doesn't say anything, David's lips quirk.

 _Right answer_.  

"And if you didn't go back and do these things?" David asks, staring Severus right in the eyes.  "If you stayed here with Lils?"

He shakes his head.  "I can't walk away that easily," he says.  "Everyone thinks Lily has gone to ground - she sees the odd friend now and again - but to the law?  She's gone.  But I'm different.  I've got a _life_ \- an apprenticeship, a Master who I'm contracted to, I've got friends-"

"Some friends," Rose murmurs.

Severus shoots her a small smile.  "I've got some real friends as well as these idiots," he says, indicating to his bruising.  "But I've got enemies too, and between them, they'll talk, they'll work it out - and they'll follow me here, and they'll find Lily, and then-"

"Sev, calm down," Lily says, stroking his hand.

"I'm just telling you how it is."

David nods.  "The door is always open," he says, evenly, "and there's a home here for you and Lily, and your child."

"Thank you."

"...have you told your parents all of this, Severus?" Rose asks.

"Some," he says, noncommittally.  "Mam doesn't like talking about this stuff."  He scrapes his bowl clean.  "Neither do I, really."

* * *

It hurts her to watch him walking up the path, his usual gait hampered by his injuries - but his final words to her reassure her somewhat, knowing that he's promised to visit Madam Pomfrey when he lands back at Hogwarts.

She's still surprised that he'd agreed to tell her parents what was going on - when she'd whispered it to him in the middle of the night, he'd bristled, and told her that they didn't need to involve them, but over the course of the day, he'd clearly re-evaluated. 

He'd warned her before they went downstairs that they'd need to be economical with the truth - not to spare her parents feelings, but because if the worst happened, and a witch or wizard stumbled across them, her parents would be open books for any Legilimens to read.  She felt that they'd struck a fair balance -  revealing enough for her parents to understand without being overly angry with the two of them for not coming to them with their problems sooner, and without putting them all in any unnecessary danger.

She wonders what made him change his mind, and she wonders if her mum will try and speak to Severus' parents if she sees them in town.  She thinks about what he told her of Avery and his plan - of the hated Strikers, and of Crouch, and of Lucius being set up for a fall by the Dark Lord.  She swallows hard at the thought of the solemn promise she made to him not to visit Narcissa.   _Just until I find out what's going on, love_ , he'd begged earnestly - and when he stared at her with those fresh cuts littering his face, she couldn't tell him no.  

With all of these thoughts swirling in her mind, she can feel Bean stirring unhappily, and she runs her hands soothingly over her bump.  "Don't worry, Bean," she murmurs.  "Daddy'll be back soon."  

She doesn't feel like sitting alone in her room with her problems any longer, so she has a shower, and changes into her nightie, and goes downstairs to sit with her parents in the living room - and although she does her utmost to concentrate on the television, she's distracted by the feel of her father's worried gaze on her.

* * *

Pomfrey fixes his wounds quickly, although not before she calls Dumbledore to the hospital wing, so Severus scowls through his treatment as Dumbledore paces up and down the empty hospital bay.

"I'll heal faster without an audience," he finally snaps, sick of seeing the older wizard looking at him with feigned concern - and although Dumbledore raises an eyebrow towards the witch, he acquiesces to Severus' demand, and asks Pomfrey to send Severus through to his study once she's finished.

"Really, Severus," Pomfrey scolds, ripping a piece of quick-heal plaster off his face without pausing, and he yelps in pain.  "You deserved that," she mutters.

"Sadist," he grumbles, rubbing his face.  "I've got a splitting headache, and he wants to lecture me."

"And he's well within his rights," she warns.  "As a member of staff here-"

"Hardly!"

"You sit at the staff breakfast table, do you not?"  

"Mmm," he grunts.

"Well then," she says.  "And you cannot expect to sit in front of the students like this."

"Could've skipped breakfast tomorrow."

"Put your hands out," she says, and after appraising the bruises, she applies a cool gel across his skin.  

He recoils at the smell.  "Merlin, that stinks."

"Keep it on for at least three hours," she advises.  "The bruises won't be visible tomorrow if you do."

"Three hours?"  He mutters as he pulls his robes back around his shoulders.  "I'm going to bed in a minute."

"You're going to the Headmaster's office."

"Oh well, three hours will be fine then," he quips, with a cheeky grin.  "Good job I don't have anyone waiting for me back in my rooms.  They'd run a mile at the smell of this."  He sniffs the ointment on his hands cautiously, checking to see if it has improved any, and then recoils again, his face screwed into a grimace.

She gives him a tight smile.  "And I don't suppose you're going to tell me what happened, are you?"

"I wasn't planning on it."

"Severus…"  She looks troubled.  "You aren't still in opposition to those boys, are you?"

He shoots her a knowing look.  "Are you asking if this attack was Potter and Black as it always was previously, or are you asking if I'm aligned against the Headmaster and his movement?"

She gives a short laugh.  "You always were perceptive."  She pauses.  "I was...dismayed to hear of your break up.  Lily was a nice girl, and you seemed well suited."

"Would I be here?" he asks, and before she can formulate an answer to his cryptic reply, he eases himself off the bed.  "I'd best away to the Headmaster.  Thank you for your assistance," he says, pulling on his boots.  "First class service, just as I remember it."

He reaches the door before his interaction in the lift on Friday crosses his mind, and then he looks back over his shoulder.  "Oh, before I forget-"

"Yes?"

"Devon Wallace sends his regards."

Her mouth opens slightly.  "You saw Devon?  You've already been to St. Mungo's?  I thought those cuts looked as if they'd been treated and-"

"He didn't make it in," Severus interrupts, his voice solemn.  "He's at the Ministry.  But he seems quite philosophical about it.  Is he a…" he trails off, not quite able to say it.

She shakes her head.  "But he was an orphan."

"No papers?"

"None that are any use," she says, softly.  "Good night, Severus."

"Good night, Madam Pomfrey," he says, shutting the door quietly as he departs.  

* * *

His fingers drum anxiously on the arm of the chair as Dumbledore's quill moves across the parchment.  

"Seven of you, did you say?"

"Yes, Headmaster," he says.  

"Yourself, Mr Avery, and five other men you did not recognise?"

"Yes, Headmaster."

"I shall check with the aurors - see if there was a death reported."

"Sir," he says, panic rising in his chest, "it will be obvious if you enquire."

Dumbledore raises an eyebrow.  "You do not trust that I shall be discrete, Severus?"

"It is not your discretion that concerns me, sir."  He pauses.  "Would the Muggle press not report it themselves, sir?"

There's a long moment, and then Dumbledore nods.  "I will verify the information via sources other than the aurors if it puts your mind at ease, Severus."

"It would, sir, thank you."

Dumbledore hesitates, his quill poised.  "And is there anything else you wish to talk through this evening?"

"...what should I do, sir?"  He leans forward in his seat.  "Avery, he wants me-"

"It is important that you remain close to Mr Avery."

"Even though-"

Dumbledore nods.

Severus sits back, and takes a deep breath.  "Yes, sir."

"Anything else, Severus?"

"...sir, about Barty Crouch-"

Dumbledore immediately stands, and turns away from his desk.  "I do not believe this is a topic of conversation-"

"But, sir, I-"

Dumbledore turns back.  "Focus on Avery.  If you can find out any information about Strikers - where they're next planning to meet, or attack," he waves his hand, "any information of that nature would be useful for the Order."  He gives Severus a piercing look.  "But Severus, do not put yourself in unnecessary danger - it is imperative that you remain trusted," and he pauses, and smiles, "and even more imperative that you return.  Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good," he says, walking towards the door to let Severus depart.  "I shall inform Madam Pomfrey that you may be in need of her services over the coming weeks, and I will ensure that she does not ask any uncomfortable questions."

"Thank you, sir."

"You are to report to her immediately after returning to the castle.  I do not wish for you to attempt to treat any injuries yourself, am I understood?"

"Perfectly, sir."

"Dismissed, Severus.  Sleep well."

* * *

It's been a tough week - tougher than any of late, and it's hardly been emotionally smooth sailing since she came running back home.  Her parents, Lily knows, think she's worried about Severus and his actions at the weekend, but in reality, it's the ban from seeing Narcissa that's truly frustrated her.  She knows it's temporary, and she knows - from what Severus has told her about Crouch and Lucius - that it's the sensible thing to do, but as she brews yet another potion to combat her swollen ankles, she can't help but yearn for the easy conversation that Narcissa provided.

She's lucky, she realises, that she's had Narcissa's assistance throughout her pregnancy.  The older witch remains entirely unaware of Bean's existence - but Lily has played her part as the doting and curious friend well, and Narcissa has seemingly rejoiced in having someone younger to share her knowledge with - and her sheer delight at carrying her own child.  Lily wonders if it's a reaction to Narcissa being the youngest sibling - Lily herself always enjoyed teaching others, and now, having seen Narcissa in action, she ponders whether it's a universal condition.  

With Severus being an only child, she can't ask him - although Severus' childhood was so unlike either hers or Narcissa's, she thinks his viewpoint would be skewed irrespective - and the more she learns about Abraxas Malfoy, the more Lily realises that Lucius' upbringing was far from normal as well.

She downs her morning fortifying potion, as well as one to combat morning sickness.  She doubts now, all these weeks in, if she needs it - but her memories of being queasy for days on end at the start of her pregnancy are firm in her mind, and she prefers to be safe rather than sitting miserably in the bathroom without her partner to hold her hand and comb back her hair.  

She dresses quickly, and smoothes her hand over her bump - Bean's really starting to show now, and if she presses gently on her skin, sometimes she can feel Bean.  She wonders if it's a hand or a foot or an elbow or a knee - and she daren't ask the strict looking midwife when she goes to the hospital; she's never dared, not since the old harridan peered at her name and sniffed during that first appointment - even though Lily has since taken Severus' advice and waved her wand over her medical records, and Mrs Lily Snape is the name which is now called down the hallway when it's her turn for her appointment.  The midwife is friendlier now, of course, but Lily's never quite looked at her in the same way.  

When Lily goes downstairs, she sees two envelopes on the table - both with just her name on the front.  She flips them over, and the one on the right has a wax seal - _someone from the magical world_ \- and her heart skips over as she tears it open.  A single card falls out, and in neat, careful handwriting in the centre, it reads:

_To Ms Lily Evans,_  
_You are cordially invited to 'date night' with Mr Severus Snape.  The dress code is black tie.  You need not bring anything other than yourself.  Please be ready on Saturday evening at 6pm where you will be collected from your door._  
_From the pen of,_  
_Mr Severus Snape_

She puts her hand to her mouth as she laughs in delight, and then she flips over the card - where there's a scrawl of Severus' usual handwriting; spidery and cramped, and an ink blot to the side:  

_Date night with you would always be my first choice._  
_Love you so much, Lil._  
_Sev x_

She presses it against her chest, holding his words to her heart, and she cries.  She wants to blame pregnancy hormones, or stress - but it's not.  Seeing him writing his thoughts in plain English makes her miss him all the more, and she knows what it's taken for him to go to such effort - and she can even imagine the gleeful smile on his face as his quill darted across the card, scribing his message of love.  

"Everything ok?" Rose asks, gently, walking in behind her.  She places her arm around Lily's shoulders, and she's relieved when Lily smiles up at her.

"Happy tears," she says, showing her Severus' card, and Rose smiles.  

"I'll know not to cook for you on Saturday," she says, squeezing Lily's arm.  "The other one's from your dad," she says.

"Oh?"  Lily reaches for it, and slides the envelope open, pulling out the letter.  She scans it, and then looks at her mum, her eyes wide.  "A job?  For _me_?  But I'm pregnant, and-"

"And radiant," her mother says.  "Brian's an old friend of your father's.  He's already explained that you can't work for a while-"

"And how has Daddy explained that?"

"...a pre-existing commitment."

Lily runs her hand over her bump.  "Bean is not exactly a pre-existing commitment."

Rose smiles gently.  "No?"

"I don't know," she says, reading over the letter again.  "I don't know what Severus will think."

"Your father wants you to have a safety net.  In case this continues for longer than you think.  In case you can't go back."

"I can't keep living without Sev," she says.  "I need him.  Bean will need him."

"Then this is a good idea.  It'll give Severus some breathing room," Rose says, placatingly, "so he's not constantly distracted by being worried about money when he's doing…"  There's a pause.  "This will make you self sufficient."

"Self sufficient?"  Lily's voice trembles as she looks at her mother.  "This isn't about helping Sev, is it?"

"Lily-"

Her voice is calm, but inside, she's screaming.  "You're preparing me for a life without him, aren't you?"


	62. Mudblood babies

They sit together on a bench opposite the town hall, Severus' eyes trained on the grand entrance, whilst Avery keeps watch of every person who passes by.

"Sev?"

"What?"

"Glad you could get the evening free," Avery says, flashing him a smile.  "Would've been boring doing this myself."

 _It's boring doing this with you_ , Severus thinks.  

"Yeah."  Severus glances at the town hall clock.  "What time do you think he'll come out?"

"He won't leave until after 8," Avery says.

_What the fuck are we doing here at 6 then?_

"Oh?"

Avery grins.  "But I like to be early," he says.  "Get a feel for the place.  And you never know, if something unusual does happen, then we're prepared."  He leans in.  "And trust me, the Dark Lord would prefer that we wasted two hours sat outside in case something happens, rather than us turn up on time but miss something out of the ordinary."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."  Avery nods solemnly.  "That's how I got this position."

Severus gives him a curious look.  "Oh?"  

Avery lowers his voice.  "You know Davison?"

"Tall bloke with that scar on his neck?"

"That's him."  Avery leans in even more closely.  "He just used to turn up at the last minute.  No preparation.  No checking the target first.  It's no way to run things."  He sits back.  "That's how we did those Muggles in York."

"Yeah?"

"Followed that Muggle target for three weeks," Avery says.  "Knew where he'd go.  Knew what he'd do."  He lowers his voice again.  "He'd had an argument in that pub the week before.  Almost got barred."  He smiles.  "That's when I knew we'd got him."

"Because he was already upset with them?"

"Yeah," Avery says, happily.  "Knew if we messed with his head in there, he'd think they were winding him up, and he'd be ready to snap."  He gives a chuckle.  "Preparation, Sev."

 _Fuck me_ , Severus thinks.   _Ave is actually pretty good at this stuff_.

"People have always underestimated you, Ave," he says, with a smile.

"All thanks to you, Sev."

_What?_

"Me?"

"Yeah," Avery flashes him a grateful grin.  "I used to watch you at school.  Always preparing the next essay, weren't you?  Everyone else barely scraped by with their homework for that week, but you were always reading ahead - not just the week after, but months ahead, years even!  Clever."  He taps his forehead.  "I didn't get it back then - I was always too busy hanging around with Mulc, but since he…"  He looks awkward.  "Well, Mulc's got a few different talents to me.  Got himself noticed by the Dark Lord, didn't he?"

Severus nods, alarmed at how bitter Avery sounds.  "I guess he has.  I only know what you've told me."

"Well, I didn't want to be a nobody forever, Sev.  I didn't want to be waiting around for Mulc to throw me a bone, so I thought about what you would've done.  And I started doing the same.  Sort of."

"...that's...really something," Severus says, not quite sure what to say.  

"Yeah," Avery grins, mistaking Severus' silence for admiration.  "All thanks to you, Sev.  This is all thanks to you."

* * *

He hasn't got a good excuse lined up for when Avery asks him for a drink afterwards, so he finds himself in a Muggle bar on the outskirts of the city.

"I haven't got any Muggle money," he mutters, but Avery pulls his wallet out.

"On me, Sev," he says, peering along the pumps.  "Dunno what any of this Muggle stuff means.  What's golden ale?"

"Get a pint of the cheapest lager," Severus says, looking around the room for a seat.  "Get me one as well, and I'll grab that booth in the corner."

He does, and Avery does, and as Avery's got more money than sense, and Severus doesn't have a plausible excuse to leave, they sink pint after pint - until the pair of them have relaxed a little, and are talking a little more openly than they ordinarily would amongst Muggles.

"Hey, Sev?"

"What?"

"Is it nice?"

"Is what nice?"

"The stuff you did."

"What stuff?"

"You know…"

Severus makes a show of putting his pint down dramatically and steepling his fingers before his face.  "Ave, are you being deliberately obtuse, or has someone slipped a babbling beverage into your drink when I've not been looking?"

Avery bristles.  "...you know what I mean."

"I do not," Severus enunciates clearly.

"All right, no need to get grumpy with me," Avery says, sulkily.  "I just wondered, that's all."

Severus pinches the bridge of his nose.  "I understand that part.   _What_ were you wondering about?"

"Whether it was nice?"

"For the last time, Ave-"

"-what you and that Mudblood used to get up to?" he suddenly blurts out.

Severus snorts.  "What?  Sticking your dick in some bird?  Course it's nice!  Tell you what, Ave, you want to get your money back from Madam Mary if her whores aren't letting you do that much.  You're meant to be taking them for a ride-"

"-yeah, yeah, shut up!"

"-not them taking you for one."  Severus grins broadly at Avery's irritated expression.  "Nah, come on, tell me - what are you doing behind those doors if you're not getting your dick wet?  Catching up on the Daily Prophet?  Writing poetry?  Reading a book?"  

 _That's what I do_.

"You're a git, Sev," Avery says, a blush appearing on his cheeks.  "Course I shag them!"  His eyes narrow.  "I fuck them good.   _Really_ hard.  Fuck them into the middle of next week."

"Too much information, Ave," Severus drawls, taking a sip of his pint.

"You asked."

"I most certainly did not."

"Yeah, well, you insinuated!  It's kind of the same!"  There's a long silence, each of them taking long draws from their drinks, and when he speaks again, Avery's voice is timid.  "Look, what I mean is…  ...being wanted by someone."  

Severus takes a deep breath, momentarily stunned by Avery's admission, and not quite sure how to react to his heartfelt words.

Avery instantly looks up at the ceiling, misinterpreting his friend's reaction.  "I know, I know - I know you were just stringing her along and all that, but…"

"But what?"

"Well, you still got all the stuff that comes with having a girlfriend, didn't you?"

"I've told you, Ave, it's just like having a fuck down Knockturn, only she tells you to pick your socks up off the floor afterwards and expects that you'll make her a cup of tea in the morning."

"I didn't mean that."

"What then?"

"Like, I don't know, sleeping next to her, and her kissing you because she wants to, and getting you a birthday card-"

_Getting me a birthday card?_

Severus is surprised at the vulnerability in Avery's expression, which is totally at odds with his earlier crude commentary of his supposed sexual prowess.  "...yeah," Severus finally answers, deciding that for once, honesty is the best policy.  "Yeah.  I'm not going to lie to you, Ave, it feels pretty good when someone wants you."

There's another long silence.

"...Sev?"

"What?"

"Being with a girlfriend...is it really like having a fuck down Knockturn?"

"She was just a witch," he mutters, not wanting the topic to linger on Lily for longer than it has to.  "One witch is no different to another."

"I know it costs a bit, but at least down at Discrete they know what they're doing."  At Severus' blank look, Avery lowers his voice to a whisper.  "Don't worry, I know it wasn't all that."

"Know what wasn't all that?"

"I heard.  On the grapevine."

"Heard what on the grapevine?"

"You said she was no good.  At...you know.  Even though you had her doing it a lot."

_Did I?_

Severus strives to keep his expression neutral.  "No good?"

"When you ditched her, remember?  Said that Gryffindor loser who tried to stick up for her could have her, but-"

"-he'd still be visiting his favourite whores," Severus finishes, suddenly remembering his outburst in Diagon Alley during their faked break-up.

"Was that right, then?  Girlfriends aren't as good?" Avery asks, keenly.  "And they don't get any better, even if you make them do it all the time?"

"Stick with Knockturn, Ave.  It's a lot less hassle," he says, fighting to keep the smile from his face.  "I'll tell you what, if it means that much to you, I'll even send you a bloody birthday card."  He claps his hand over Avery's on the table.  "I draw the line at sleeping next to you though."

"Yeah, right - in your dreams!"  Avery laughs, but he mirrors Severus' action and slaps his free hand against Severus', in an unspoken acknowledgement of their friendship.

After a moment, suddenly uncomfortable, they pull their hands away, and Avery stands, collecting their two empty glasses.  "Are we having another pint, or what?"

* * *

"You ever wanted to knock some chick up?"

"...no."

"Never?  Not even when you're banging away, and she's screaming your name, and you could do it, right then?  Fuck right her up."

"What, and land myself with some kid?"

"You wouldn't be bothered by the kid," Avery's face is greedy, "but you could ruin her life, couldn't you?"

"I guess you could," Severus says, sounding unconvinced.  "I've never thought about it before."

Avery gives a slight shake of his head.  "I don't believe you.  You've never thought about it?  Never?"

"No."

"Not even when you cast the barrier charm before you put it in?  That's when it hits me," Avery says, darkly.  "Makes me remember that I'm the one in control."

"...I don't use the barrier charm."  Severus indicates at himself.  "Potions apprentice, remember, Ave?"

"Oh yeah."  There's a pause.  "Does that work then, the potion?"

Severus straightens.  "Of course it works.  What are you suggesting?"

"Touchy," Avery laughs.  "I didn't mean your brewing.  I meant with her being non-magical."

"She's not non-magical!"  The retort is out of his mouth before he can think it through.

Avery raises an eyebrow.  "Well, she's not like us, is she?  Not _proper_ magic."  He nods.  "It was pretty clever of her, really.  Almost more Slytherin than Gryffindor."

 _I almost don't want to know_ , he thinks.  

"What was?"

"Guess you don't have to be magical to be quick witted."

Severus stuffs his hand in his pocket, his fist clenched, trying desperately not to show Avery that he's provoking him.  

 _You're both too drunk for this argument_.

"What was quick witted of her?"

"Shagging you when school got too difficult for her."  Avery flashes him a knowing smile.  "She could've had Potter, but he might've ditched her once he realised that she wanted to use him, but you…"  He holds his hands up.  "It's no disrespect to you, Sev, but she knew you weren't going to get another girl to bang even when you realised she was using you."  He nods in solidarity.  "I don't judge you for it, Sev.  I'd have done the same."  He pauses, and suddenly looks regretful.  "Wish I'd studied a bit harder in school if I knew the girls were thinking of doing that."

"I didn't help her.  She was talented enough without me."

Avery laughs.  "Yeah, right, what was it that attracted her to you then?  Your devastating good looks?  Your charming personality?"  He laughs even harder as Severus' back stiffens.  "Come on, Sev, this is me!  You don't have to pretend.  I understand!"

 _You don't_.  

"We're the same, Sev!"

 _We're not_.

"You shouldn't rely on the barrier spell," Severus says, changing the subject before he says something he'll regret.  "It's weak.  It can be cast incorrectly, or it can be reversed during-"  

"-I know.  That's the point."

Severus' eyebrows raise at Avery's smug interruption.  "...you _deliberately_ reverse it?  You whip out your wand mid-shag?"

"Yeah," Avery chuckles.  "I like doing it.  Holding that power over them.  All their dreams gone."  He clicks his fingers.  "Their whole future ruined in an instant."

Severus gives him a curious look.  "You _like_ doing it?  ...who'd shag you again after you pull that stunt the first time?"

"...well, I haven't actually gone through with it," Avery says, looking mildly ashamed at Severus' criticism, "but right at that moment when I'm threatening to do it, they don't know that I'm not going to, do they?  And then," he says, his eyes now sparkling, "I've got all the power."  He flexes his hips.  "In.  Having a baby.  Out.  Not having a baby.  In.  Having a bab-"

"-yeah, I get it," Severus interrupts, holding his hand up.

 _Fucking hell_.  

"No wonder you never get a second date, Ave."

"If only," he mutters.

Severus pauses, taking in his comment.  "Wait, you mean…"  He turns to look at his friend, the realisation dawning upon him.  "You don't mean a date, do you?  You pull that sort of stunt at Discrete Knights?"  He laughs out loud.  "That's why Iona blanks you when we go in, isn't it?"

Avery shrugs.  "She's not said that's why..."

"Fuck me, Ave, you do realise that they're on about four different types of contraception, don't you?  They're not relying on your shittily cast barrier charm!"  Severus laughs even louder, ignoring Avery's injured look.  "Bloody hell, just tell Madam Mary you're into that shit when you make an appointment.  They'll cater for almost any kink as long as you don't drop it on them mid-stroke."

"Really?"  Avery looks dubious.  " _Any_ kink?"  

 _Yeah, like, staying in all of your clothes and reading a book whilst your mate gets his rocks off next door_.  

"Probably.  Just ask."

"With any of the girls?  Even Iona?"

"Well, maybe not Iona.  Not if you threatened her with a barrier charm removal when you were about to blow.  Fuck's sake, Ave, you're lucky Madam Mary didn't ban you."

"I thought that was pretty standard behaviour."

"Believe me, it's not."

There's a long silence whilst Avery mulls this over, and then he stares Severus in the face, forcing his friend to make eye contact.  "You're not into power games then, Sev?"

 _Yes_.  

"No."

"Really?  You don't get off on forcing a girl do whatever you want?"

"No."  

 _It's not about forcing her_.   _It's about her wanting to do it to please me._

"Bloody hell, Ave," Severus continues, "can you imagine what Madam Mary would've said if you'd knocked one of her girls up?  You'd put her out of action for months."

"Nah," Avery laughs.  "She wouldn't have been out of action.  That's got to be a kink, hasn't it?  Pregnancy sex?"

_Hell yes._

"Not for me," Severus says, dismissively, "and I don't think many others would be into it."

"No?"  Avery makes a crude gesture at his chest.  "There'd be way more of a handful.  Imagine the jiggle!"

"It's a sign of damaged goods.  Too close to another man's seconds for my liking."

"Right.  Yeah.  Didn't think of it like that."  Avery looks thoughtful.  "Although that's quite hot, isn't it?"

"Not really."

"Yeah!  Banging some guy's wife."  He smirks.  "I would.  I'd love that.  And you would, I bet."

"It's not my thing."

"It should be.  It's super hot," Avery argues.  "You're telling me you've never done that with Malfoy's wife?"

"No."

"Really?"  He leans in, his voice low.  "I've heard she's a bit of a go-er.  She'll do anyone apparently."  He catches Severus' eye.  "I heard she was well into you."

_How the fuck does Ave know?_

"...she's attractive," Severus admits, reluctantly, feeling backed into a corner, "but I've heard Malf likes to watch.  I'm not into that."

"Not just watch by all accounts," Avery mutters.  "Likes to get involved."

Severus straightens.  "And I'm definitely not into that."

"She's gorgeous," Avery says, "but I don't blame you.  That's enough to put me off, that is.  And Malfoy's always had a bit of a thing for you, hasn't he?"

 _Yes_.  

"No.  That was just-"

"-it's all right, don't worry!  I understand you're not that way.  I'm with you," Avery nods.  "Always been a bit 'backs to the wall' around Malfoy, if you know what I mean?  It wouldn't be like that if we did it."

 _What?_   

Severus' eyes widen.  "...if we did what?"

Avery laughs loudly.  "Don't look like that, Sev!  I just mean, if we banged a chick together."

"Look, I'm not really into-"

"We could though!  At Madam Mary's.  They've got to cater for that, haven't they?"

"Don't take this the wrong way, and you're a good mate, but I don't want to have a threesome with you, Ave."

"-I wouldn't do anything weird!  I wouldn't even touch you!"  He looks keen.  "But imagine that, Sev, imagine what we could make a witch do if there were two of us to overpower her."  His smile is dark.  "And Iona likes you.  I reckon she'd do it if you were there."

"Iona doesn't _like_ me.  I'm just another paying customer."

"She does!  She always tries to get you to choose her."

_No, Iona always tries to get me because she knows she's going to get paid to sit around and paint her nails whilst I read a magazine.  And I often choose her because I know she isn't going to tell anyone the truth._

"If you want to shag Iona again, you don't need me."  Severus shrugs.  "She's a whore, Ave.  And if you actually bloody told her what your kink was, she'd probably accomodate you.  Just chuck more galleons at her until she says yes."  

 _That's how I bought her silence_.

Avery shakes his head.  "It's not the same if I've agreed it in advance.  It's not power, is it?"  He looks disappointed.  "Well, if that's off the cards, I might get some Mudblood bird and do it with her.  Just to see her face.  And with her being non-magical, she wouldn't be able to fight back, would she?  Couldn't disarm me!  Might actually knock her up.  Get her preggo."

_Non-magical!_

"...and what do you think the Dark Lord might say about that, Ave, hmm?"

"Reckon he wouldn't mind," Avery says, thoughtfully.  "We could breed them out."

Severus gives him a confused look.  "Breed...them...out?"

"Yeah, yeah!  Like that experiment Sluggy had us do in second year, do you remember?  The water purification?"

He nods.  Of course he remembers.  "So we're the sand in this analogy, are we?"

"Yeah, and they're dirty Mudbloods.  We fuck them and give them our seed, and boom, out comes a purer kid."

"...you are fucked in the head, Ave."

He shrugs.  "What's the alternative?  Let them be knocked up by Muggles and then they can have more Mudblood babies?"

"Wouldn't a Muggle and a Mudblood have a Half?"

"Nah," chuckles Avery.  "With four Muggle grandparents?  That kid's got no chance."  He finishes his pint.  "One more for the road, eh?"

* * *

Avery's words are still ringing in his ears as the week draws to a close.  He'd had a horrible hangover the morning after their evening out, and he'd had to raid his stores for the last of the potion that he'd been brewing for Rabastan.  

 _I need to brew more of this_ , he thinks - but as he's not heard from Rabastan, and Fletcher's gone underground, he's not going to start actively looking for trouble.

He knocks the potion back, and he's pleased at just how effective it is - it allows him to brew with Sluggy without arousing his suspicions, although he still had to force himself to be enthused with Sluggy's overeager demonstrations.  

 _Remember you're Lily-as-Severus_ , he had to keep reminding himself.  

As irritating as Slughorns' ever-cheery enthusiasm was, being with his own thoughts was worse, and Severus' mood soured the longer that he brewed throughout the day.

 _That kid's got no chance_.   _An orphan.  That kid's got no chance.  No papers to speak of.  That kid's got no chance_.   _Eager little Devon Wallace is stuck as a lift attendant.  That kid's got no chance.  No papers.  No chance.  No papers.  No chance._

He watches the clock keenly until it strikes five, and then he grabs his outer cloak, and he departs from the dungeons.  

* * *

"Severus," Lucius says with a relieved smile, pulling him into an embrace, and ushering him into his study.  "Dismissed, Dobby.  Bloody elves," he mutters, casting against the door to stop anyone from entering.

"Someone else here?" Severus enquires, mildly.

"Cissy," Lucius says, "and my father.  And that's enough, is it not?"

Severus nods, knowing that Abraxas is the real cause of the spell, and not Narcissa.  "Still having difficulties?"

"Fewer."  

"Either of the brothers been to visit?"

Lucius shakes his head.  "No sign of the terrible two, or my nightmare of a sister-in-law."  He pauses.  "Is that why your girlfriend has not been to visit this week?  Cissy is positively climbing the walls, and frankly, Severus, there are only so many stuffed toys that I can pass comment upon.  I've already said it looks adequate - what else is there to say?"

 _Adequate_.  

Severus stifles a smile.  "I was concerned, yes."

"Well, I'm bloody concerned - get her back round."  

"I'd heard a few things."

Lucius stills, and then visibly composes himself, walking around and stoking the fire, and inviting Severus to sit before it.

Severus takes his usual seat, waving away the offer of a drink.  "...about a certain famous son who is in a spot of bother.  And your involvement."

Lucius nods tightly.  "I see."

"A set up?"

"Well, I'm hardly the first on his Christmas card list, Severus!  Of course it's a set up - in what other universe would I be the person who pays for Crouch's defence team?"  

"Offer more," Severus says, quietly.  "Double it."

Lucius' voice is cold.  "No amount of money is going to acquit Crouch - in fact, the idea of Crouch being acquitted is far worse, is it not?  If his counsel is decent, and anyone works out our involvement then _all_ of us are in strife!"

Severus opens his palms.  "Malf, calm down and think for a moment - nobody knows about what we did, yes?"

"...I suppose."

"So this is a horrible coincidence, yes?"

"...yes."

"And, please correct me if I am mistaken, but this is simply a punishment for you not funding the Dark Lord, yes?"

"...I assume so, yes."

"Then _fund_ the Dark Lord," Severus hisses.  "The alternative is that you're outed as a supporter of a dark wizard-"

"-not necessarily," Lucius argues.  "I've been thinking, and I'm sure we can spin a suitable story.  Crouch was one of us in Slytherin-"

"-he joined Slytherin when you were leaving!" Severus scoffs.  "That looks worse, if you ask me - as if you were grooming a politician's son from the moment he stepped into Hogwarts as a child when you were already of your majority.  If Crouch is sent down as a dark wizard, his father will start a crusade and you'll be cited as the man who pulled him onto that dark path to begin with - and that's a lot worse than what we're looking at at the moment!"

Lucius sighs, and runs his hand over his face.  "...Cissy has said much the same."

"Then listen to Cissy and listen to me, and pay off the Dark Lord."

"There is no such thing, Severus," Lucius warns.  "You do not simply pay off the Dark Lord."

"You say not, but is he stupid?"

"Severus," Lucius gives a soft laugh, "you should not even dare to utter such words."

"Exactly.  He's the leader of a movement.  He's got aims and goals-"

"I have not got the faintest clue where you're going with this, Severus."

"Think about it, he's not self sufficient, is he?  Else he wouldn't have taken it so badly when the Malfoy money stopped rolling in," Severus presses.  "Politics is an expensive game.  Dirty politics - with bribes and pay offs - is even more expensive, and war…"  He waves his hand.  "War is even more costly."

"You think he can be bought?"

"I don't think he can paid off with a lump sum, put it that way," Severus says, "but I doubt he'll slay the golden goose.  If you keep the Dark Lord's pockets lined, is he going to risk you being sent to Azkaban?  Risk you falling in status within wizarding circles, and your fortune being seized as a consequence?"

"I suppose not."

"Then it's simple - don't pay for Crouch's defence, but give the Dark Lord that money, and then more on top.  Tell him that your father has set you up with your own finance stream, and you've decided to pledge it all to the Dark Lord.  Tell him that you'll be able to sign money over to him every month."  He pauses.  "If you don't, and you and Narcissa have a child…"

"I know," Lucius says, quietly.

"Then there's no question, is there?  Tell the Dark Lord the good news as soon as possible, and then go down to Gringotts next week and lodge the paperwork.  It's the only way."

"...Merlin, I've missed you, Severus."

"Believe me, I've missed you too, Malf."

* * *

He declines the offer to sit and dine with Lucius and Narcissa, but stays in Lucius' study instead, flicking through a book about Obliviation.

"Still on mind charms?" Lucius asks, when he returns.  "Mastered the old Legilimency now, have you?"

"Nowhere close," Severus laughs.  "Fascinating stuff though, isn't it?"

"Borrow it," Lucius offers.  "It'll give you something to do whilst your lovely witch is here," and he smiles, "because you're telling her to come back next week, aren't you?"

Severus smiles, and puts the book down.  "Put your finances in order, and it's a deal."

"So," Lucius says, arching his eyebrow in surprise when Severus again waves away his silent offer of a firewhisky. He pours one for himself, and then sits opposite Severus by the fire, "although your appearance has been greatly appreciated this evening, Severus, I assume that you have a motive for knocking upon my door?"

His lips quirk, and he looks slightly ashamed.  "It would ordinarily be enough just to converse with you, Malf."

"Flattery will get you everywhere," Lucius says, rolling his eyes.  "What do you need?"

"Two things," he says, daringly.  

"Go on."

"Have you got a Muggle suit?"

"In court again, Severus?" Lucius asks, mildly.  "What did you do with the one I bought you last time?"

"Posher than that," he says, with a grin.  "I'm taking the better half out on a Muggle date."

Lucius smiles.  "In a _posh_ suit? Black tie?  Birthday?"

"Yes, yes, and no."

"Some sort of anniversary?"  He pauses, and his eyes narrow, and then he laughs.  "You're going to marry her, aren't you?"

Severus nods.

"And the ring?"

"She's wearing it," he says, with a smile.  "But it was a bit hurried.  I wanted to do it properly."

Lucius puts his hand out for Severus to shake.  "Congratulations to you both."  He sits back in his chair.  "Where are you eating?"  

"Langan's Brasserie," he says, with a smile.

Lucius raises an eyebrow.  "She likes Muggle art?"

He nods.  "And my efforts at Confunding the maître d' at the Dorchester failed," he admits with a laugh.  "I couldn't even get past the door staff at the Ivy."

Lucius looks most amused.  "I applaud your persistence.  ...do you have a room?"

He shakes his head.  "I can't afford the best places at London prices."

"I'll arrange a suite at the Ritz.  It's around the corner."

"Malf, I can't-"

"You can.  Call it a wedding present," Lucius grins.  "That and the suit.  Don't worry about Confunding the door staff - you'll be dressed appropriately, and I'll put you in as Mr and Mrs, naturally.  Make sure she wears her ring."  He pauses.  "And the second thing?"

This time Severus looks uncomfortable, and he stares at the floor instead of at his friend.  "...I know it's a big ask, but Cissy suggested to Lily that it might be possible…"

"Yes?"

He digs in the pocket of his robes and pulls out his Wizarding Bank access card, and taps it.  "...I haven't got much, Malf," Severus says quietly, "but what's in here, I can transfer.  I can do it tonight."

"For _what_ , Severus?"

"...Lily needs new wizarding papers.  Halfblood ones."


	63. Congratulations

She feels like she's floating when she spots him through her bedroom window.  She places her fingers on the glass, as if she can touch him, and she watches him stride down the street, her eyes lingering on him as he stands on the pavement and fiddles with his cuffs.  She drinks in his appearance - and then he stops, and glances up, and she steps back from the window.  She hesitates for a moment, and then she realises that he hasn't seen her, and she takes a step closer to window as he opens the garden gate and approaches the house.  

She's never seen him looking so smart - not when he was in court with Lucius in that Muggle suit that she's never quite been able to stand the sight of since, and not even when he wore his finest robes to his Ministry hearing.  His polished shoes shine in the light as he walks up the path, and she turns away, spritzing perfume on her wrists and neck, and then picks up her clutch from the dresser.  

When she makes her way across the landing, she can hear his voice rumbling whilst he talks to her parents.  She starts to make her way slowly down the stairs, and he immediately stops talking - and she knows his eyes are trained on her.  She savours the moment, walking far more slowly than is necessary, especially as she's wearing flat shoes instead of the heels she would've preferred.  As she descends, he tilts his head, looking rather like a curious owl.  She can tell what he's thinking without the use of Legilimency - he's wondering why she's allowed to wear her shoes indoors when she's forever berating him about his boots, but it's different.  It's different when you're checking your full ensemble in the only full-length mirror in the house, different when you're being forced to wear flat shoes with a dress that you're not convinced matches - but at this stage of her pregnancy, even the most powerful cushioning charm isn't going to enable her to wear heels.  It's different.  It's different when you want everything to be right and your confidence is at a low.

They'd stood for a long time in the shop, Lily and her mother, with Lily muttering and grumbling and rejecting shoe after shoe - but eventually, her mother had found a pair which would match her dress, with a high gloss finish, and a dainty bow at the toe - and Lily had been forced to reluctantly admit, after checking them over and over, that they were suitable.

Her mother had the patience of a saint, and Lily's certain it's only because she's not usually picky about these sorts of details - but with all of the upset and uncertainty that's surrounded her and Severus of late, she feels as if she can't settle for anything less than perfect.  Lily wasn't doing it for herself.  Not really.  She wanted to take his breath away when he saw her.  She wanted to imprint herself on his mind - to remind him what he was struggling for when he was out on the town with Avery; for their family, and their freedom.  She wanted to remind him that he's not a free agent.

 _He loves you_ , her mother had said when she'd voiced her fears.   _Look_.  And she had, she'd looked at his invitation, and she'd seen the effort he'd gone to.  The words _black tie_ said it all; she knew he was going to throw everything at this date - _and he wouldn't have done that if he didn't love you_ \- and she didn't want to be a disappointment to him.  Not when this was Severus at his most exposed; showing her with his actions what he often finds so difficult to put into words.

She wanted this date to be everything he'd fantasised about when he'd put quill to parchment.

From the look on his face, she's succeeded in her goal.  He takes a shuddering breath, and a wide smile appears on his face as she moves down the final steps - and he holds his hand out, pulling her into a short embrace.  His hand ghosts over her midriff, over Bean - who is concealed once more - and as his fingers linger and Bean's faint magic pulses, she looks at him, as if awaiting his approval.

"You look stunning," he murmurs.  "...you'd have looked stunning with Bean showing too."

"I wasn't sure what sort of establishment we'd be going to.  Whether it mattered-"

"It wouldn't matter.  You've got my ring, love," he says, lifting her hand, and kissing the engagement ring on her finger - and before she can reply, before she can point out that it's an engagement ring and not a wedding band, he holds his arm out.  "Come with me.  Our table's booked."

* * *

He's unusually quiet during dinner.  She wonders if he doesn't want to talk about what he's doing, or the wizarding world in general, or about Bean - and then she wonders if there's something else bothering him, she wonders if Avery's been whispering in his ear, and telling him things that'll make him question being with her - but if that's the case, he doesn't show any sign of it.  Instead, he keeps smiling, and asking her questions, and in trying to fill the silence she finds herself wittering on about something and nothing, about things she's heard on the radio, or read in the Muggle news, or what her mother overheard at the market, and even that article her father gave her about a new exhibition in the British Museum that they'll probably never visit.  She worries that he'll be bored as she flits from one topic to the next, but he just sits and he smiles, and each time she tries to convince him to take the reins of the conversation, each time she tries to convince him to speak, he shoots her an amused look, and takes a slow sip of his wine, and deflects the question, asking her another, and putting the focus back on her.

She plays his game all throughout the starter and the main, but just before dessert, she presses him.  But he quirks that same smile, and all he says is, "I'm listening to you, love.  Indulge me, please," - and he looks so happy, so content, she doesn't want to provoke an argument.  So she does as he asks, and indulges him - and she has the overwhelming feeling that he's watching her as if she was his favourite television programme - as if he's savouring her every action, memorising the way she picks up her fork, or toys with her glass, or the way she brushes her hair behind her ear.

And it makes her smile all the more, seeing him like this - seeing him relaxed, and seeing the look of wonderment on his face.   _He looks entranced_ , she thinks, as she makes her way to the toilets, glancing behind her to see him contemplating her, his elbows on the table and his chin resting on his hands and his eyes trained on her.

* * *

"Thank you," she says, as he takes her arm and they step out into the night.  "I've had a lovely evening."

"Good."

"Shall we Apparate?"

And then he smiles - a smug, self-assured smile that she's only seen on his face a few times before, and he chuckles.  "Apparate?  We're only going around the corner."

"But-"

"Shhhhh," he says, placing his hand on her cheek and brushing his thumb over her lips.  "I thought we could make a night of it.  If you're not already tired of me?"

Her legs wobble as he walks her up towards the glamorous hotel, but he doesn't show any signs of inferiority or concern as they reach the entrance.  She's glad she's hidden Bean, even if Severus makes a show of introducing them as Mr and Mrs Snape and signs the register with a flourish and a grin on his face.  She's glad she didn't know his plans in advance - she'd have worried herself sick throughout the meal, fretting that they'd be looked down upon - for their age, for their baby, for their _lack_ , but Severus doesn't seem in the least bit concerned, acting as if this is a routine destination.  The staff do their part - if they notice that she feels uncomfortable there's no comment from them; the porters are welcoming, and the concierge is professional and courteous, and she finds herself relaxing as she watches Severus navigating the hotel with a sense of belonging.

 _The mucky boy from Spinner's End_ , she thinks, as she watches him straighten his lapels and stride across to the resident pianist.  A short conversation passes between them and then Severus returns to her side, and the pianist starts to play with enthusiasm.

"Boccherini," she says, after a moment, with a small laugh.

"I failed on the violinist," he says, solemnly, "but I believe the minuet is still as impressive when played on piano."

"Yes."

She stands, entranced, her hand in his - until the final notes play, and he silently leads her to the lifts.

* * *

It's grand.  There's no other word for it.  The lobby is grand, the gallery is grand, the room is grand - the hotel is _grand_.  And Severus looks so impossibly pleased with himself when she enters the room and she sees a bag on the side.  She shoots him a confused glance, and she peers in it, spying her own belongings and smiling widely.

"I brought them from Hogwarts for you," he says, stepping behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist.  "And I brought a few things from the bathroom.  Your toothbrush, and your hairbrush, and your robe, and-"

"I was wondering what I was going to do," she interrupts, turning in his arms and stroking his cheek with her fingertips, "when you said we were staying."  She kisses him softly, and rests her face against his chest, her hand brushing through the pleats of his shirt.  "You've thought of everything."

"I wanted this night to be perfect," he says, holding her against him.  "Just us."

At his words, her hand immediately runs over Bean, and Severus places his hand over hers.  

"Yes," he murmurs, "take the dress off and drop the charm.  I want to see all of you.  I want to see everything that's mine."

"I need to…"

He ghosts light kisses across the top of her hair.  "You need to what, love?"

"...change," she says.  "Freshen up."  She glances up at him.  "I think my mascara streaked when we were listening to the piano and-"

He tips her head back, and presses his lips to hers, silencing her.  His kiss is slow, and chaste, and it reminds her of those early days when everything was new.  They'd leapt into their relationship, going from nought-to-sixty; having sex before they'd barely even held hands - and she can remember them trying to awkwardly retrace the steps they'd skipped past in their haste.  She can remember sitting in his bedroom, kissing, in the days after they'd first slept together.  In her mind's eye, she can still see the look of dismay on his face when she'd pulled away from his overenthusiastic efforts.

_"Softer."_

_"Great, I'm doing it wrong."_

_"I didn't say that," she said - trying not to think about how many times they'd bumped noses, or their teeth had clashed.  She could see a blush of shame on his face, and she wished she hadn't said anything.  "Sev, you're not doing anything wrong."_

_But he'd already sat back, his arms folded, his ego clearly dented._

_"Do you trust me?"_

_"...yes."_

_"Close your eyes."_

_He'd blinked three or four times, as if he wasn't quite sure, and then he'd closed them fully - his eyelashes long and dark against his pale cheeks.  She'd moved closer to him, and she felt his chest rise in anticipation as her lips skittered across his cheek, barely meeting his soft skin._

_She pressed gentle kisses across his cheekbones, and over the bridge of his nose and down to the tip, and then she finally met his lips.  Her touch was light - barely there, even - and she slowly built the kiss from a brief brush of their lips to a more assured connection._

That's how he's kissing her now, those early lessons fully learned.  He moves gently and steadily, but with the confidence of a lover who knows what his partner enjoys.  She tries to deepen the kiss, to slide her tongue against his, but he pulls away before returning to press his lips to hers once more, and she can feel his smile against her lips.

"Not giving up control?" she whispers.

He gives the barest chuckle in response, his dark eyes fixed on her own.  "You don't want me to."  Then there's a hesitation.  "Do you?"

"...no."

"Then I think you need to do what I said," he murmurs more confidently, permission now granted, gently turning her until she's facing away from him.  He brushes her hair over one shoulder, and softly draws his lips down her bare neck as he slowly pulls the zip on the back of her dress down.  He carefully lifts the material from her shoulders, and lets the garment slide to the floor where it pools around her feet.  "Now the charm," he mutters, his hands sliding around her waist, as he presses kisses across her exposed shoulder blades.

"...my purse."

"Hmm?"

"My wand.  It's in my purse."

He slides his own wand from his sleeve, and her purse hurtles through the air.  She catches it, and he smiles, and then she takes her wand out and reverses the concealing charm - her body slowly revealing its natural state.  Again, he gently turns her, his eyes roaming over her body as if he's never seen it before - and then he takes a step back, and another, and then he shrugs his jacket off and tosses it on the floor, and hitches the material of his trousers - just enough to give him leverage to sit on the bed - and then, his eyes never leaving her, he starts to detach his cufflinks.

"Undress for me, love," he says, untying his bowtie, and then opening the stiff collar of his shirt.  He stretches his neck, and she can see a thin flush of red where the wing tip collar has rubbed him - but he's so enchanted by her, he seems not to have noticed.  He places his hands behind him on the bed, and leans back, ready to enjoy the show as she finishes undressing before him.  

She slowly peels the rest of her clothing from her body, and he watches her keenly, his gaze hooded, and a small smile playing on his lips as she reveals herself to him.

"Gorgeous," he murmurs, holding his hand out - and when she takes it, he pulls her to him, and helps her onto the bed next to him, his hands running through her hair and his lips finding hers once more.

* * *

She wonders how it'll work between them, this barely explored dynamic, with her ever-changing body.  They'd barely had a moment together before being pulled apart, and she'd loved the way he'd taken control, loved the way she'd turned the tables on him, pinning her under him.  She wants that wrestle for dominance; to do as he bids, but to meet him as an equal, challenging him, to _play_.  She wants more - she's desperate to use the new information she's learnt about him to tease him, to take him to new heights, to make him desire her all the more - but she can't, not with Bean to consider.

It's the elephant in the room, but she isn't sure he's noticed.  He encircles her wrist with forefinger and thumb, exerting a little pressure, holding her against the mattress.  She can see it in his eyes then - and it excites her, the idea of being held, of him being in control, and it's that thrill that she fights to dampen down.  It's on the tip of her tongue to warn him to be careful, but then he smiles, and releases her, and he handles her so reverently, she wonders if he's read her mind - or maybe if he's read a book, or a magazine, or even asked Lucius about his exploits with Narcissa and the unborn Malfoy child.

"Stop thinking," he murmurs, his shaved cheek unusually smooth against her own as his voice rumbles in her ear.  "Your poor brain is overworked."

"I can't."

"You can.  Let go, and trust me."  He turns and reaches for the pillows, and pulls them down from the top of the bed, loosely arranging them in centre.  "Settle back, love," he says, "and get comfortable."

It's then that she knows - she knows he understands, and she moves them, plumping them and arranging them beneath her back, securing herself in a position where she's settled and Bean's supported, and then she tries to do as he wishes - tries to relax.  She closes her eyes, and squeezes his fingers, and he touches her slowly, reverentially - and she starts to focus on what he's doing to her body.

She breathes deeply, enjoying the feel of his skin against her own, the gentle tickle of his hair brushing against her smooth limbs, the heat from his lips, and the soft but insistent ministrations of his fingers.  He touches her as if he's the pianist from the lobby and she's the expensive grand piano, his fingers gliding over her and slowly working her into a crescendo.

"I want to hear you," he says, as he brings her to the brink.

Her hands grip his biceps as she arches upwards.  "Sev-"

"Louder for me."

"Sev, more-"

"Louder," he says, firmly.

Her breath hitches, her fingernails digging into his skin.  "Talk."

"Stolen moments," he hisses, his hand moving steadily, "that's all we've had.  Moments pressed together in that single bed-"

"Yes," she gasps.

"Cringing each time the frame creaks-"

"Yes-"

"My hand clamped over your mouth so your screams don't wake your parents-"

"Yes-"

"Like _this_ ," he says, lifting his free hand and pressing it over her mouth in demonstration, and leaning down, his breath hot in her ear.  "And now we're together, alone, as we're meant to be, and you can be loud-"

"Mmm."  Her groan is muffled by his hand.

"Louder."

"Mmmmmm!"

"Louder still," he grins, a wicked gleam in his eye, and her body jerks beneath his touch.  " _Scream_ for me," he demands, and then he tears his hand away just as she cries out, and there's adoration in his expression as he watches her come apart.

She pants raggedly, and falls back on the nest of pillows, and as she composes herself, breathing deeply, one hand still gripping his arm, he kisses his way down her body, not stopping until his lips meet her sex.  Immediately, her breath catches, and her hand moves from his arm to his head, smoothing through his hair.  "Sev, I don't know if I can, not so soon, if I-"

"You _can_ ," he says firmly, "you know you can, and what's more, you _will_ ," - and then he sets about proving his point, over and over, until her chest is flushed and her voice is hoarse.

* * *

He gently throws the pillows at the headboard as she departs to the bathroom.  When she returns, he's lowered the lights even further, and he's lying back on the pile of pillows, his expression smug, and he pats his lap in invitation.  She straddles his thighs, and together they remove his crisp white shirt, and then she tugs at his trousers, helping him to shrug them down his legs until he can kick them off.  Her fingers hook in the waistband of his pants, but he stops her and she looks confused.

"What?"

"You can't love a guy wearing just his socks," he says, holding her tightly as he reaches around her to remove them one at a time and then throws them as far across the room as he can.

"You won't find those tomorrow," she laughs.

And then he joins her, his loud laughter making her giggle all the more.  Their joy is contagious, and in the end, she doesn't know what she's laughing at, or what he's laughing at, and whether she's laughing at him, or he's laughing at her, or whether they're both laughing together, and then she laughs at the silliness of the situation.

She composes herself, eventually, and she puts her fingers under his chin and tilts his head upwards. "I love you," she says, and the oh-so-earnest look on his face makes her stomach twist, and she kisses him.  Not the tender, chaste, teasing kiss that he'd used earlier to seduce her, but a vibrant and passionate kiss - the melding of two hearts, and two souls, and two lives, and this time he doesn't protest as she removes his underpants.  She groans as she rocks atop him, and he holds her to him, moving his body until they fit together perfectly.

* * *

He's gentle when he wakes her.  He's washed, and dressed, and shaven - and he sits by her side, stroking her hair.  It's then that she notices that he's wearing casual clothes, and not his suit, and then she spies her own set of casual clothes set out ready on his side of the bed.

"I Transfigured them so you don't have to hide Bean," he says, "but I was guessing."  And then he gives her a small smile.  "Don't be offended if I got the size wrong."

"I won't," she says, smiling back at him, and reaching for his hand.  "Thank you," she says, "there's nothing worse than walking around in the morning in last night's party clothes."

"I know.  I remember you saying so a few years ago."

And she did - she'd forgotten until he said, but they'd been out dancing in the club at Cokeworth, and he'd taken her to his after, and she'd done the so-called walk of shame across the river.  Not that anyone had said anything - not until Petunia had caught her in the kitchen, and had made poisonous comment after poisonous comment.  After that, he'd always made sure that he'd got clothes that she could borrow - a jumper, or a t-shirt - and he kept her old pair of trainers in the bottom of his wardrobe.

* * *

She showers, wondering if anyone will remember that she didn't appear pregnant when she checked in last night - but then she dismisses the thought; they're just two anonymous guests amongst hundreds, and people will believe what they see before them, assuming that they were mistaken.   _Or_ , and she smiles to herself, _they'll think the dress worked wonders_.  Instead, it's another thought that's bothering her when she walks back through and sees him sitting on the bed and reading.

"How did you afford the Ritz, Sev?"

"I didn't," he says, quietly.  "Malf sends us his congratulations."  And then he grins.  " _Mrs_ Snape."

"You told him you proposed?  That we're going to get married?"

He nods.  "It's his wedding gift.  A little early."

"And the meal?"

"That was all me," he says, happily.  "The Snape bank account could afford that much, at least."

She dresses efficiently, and he doesn't interrupt, so she guesses that their time in the room is nearly at an end.  As she applies a dash of make-up - just enough to cover the lack of sleep - she turns to him.  "He's not upset?"

"Who?"

"Lucius.  At you marrying a…"

He quickly moves over to her, his hands resting on her shoulders.  "You know Malf," he says.  "He's malleable in his opinions.   _If_ he likes you."

"He likes _you_ ," she says.  "It has nothing to do with me."

"Cissy likes you."

"Perhaps," she says.

"She does!  Besides," he adds, nonchalantly, "there'll be some papers with your name on at the Ministry soon."

"Papers?  With my name?  At the Ministry?"

"Oh yes.  And as your husband, I should be the first to congratulate you, Mrs Lily Snape."

"But we're not married yet."

"We will be," he says.  "And then you can flash those papers to all concerned."

She frowns.  "...but it makes no difference, Sev.  Me marrying you doesn't mean-"

"It does!"  And then he beams, his wide smile causing the skin around his eyes to crinkle.  "It _does_ when those papers say: Mrs Lily Snape, _Halfblood_."


	64. Benevolent Lord

When he's lying in his bedroom at Hogwarts and thinking over their weekend, he's annoyed with himself.  Annoyed that he didn't tell her about Malf's solemn promise sooner - annoyed that he didn't tell her when he picked her up, or over dinner, or even when he was holding her in his arms as she drifted to sleep in the luxurious bed they were sharing.  

He didn't want to examine the reasons too deeply - he didn't want to scrutinise his own insecurities.  He didn't want to acknowledge that he'd feared making yet another mistake, inevitably ruining all of the effort he'd put in to ensure that their night would be perfect.  He didn't want to open his mouth and say the wrong thing - he was doing that all too often, and he had so few hours with Lily, he didn't want to spend those precious moments with her annoyed with him, her lips pressed into a thin line, and her eyes cold, and her arms crossed.  

He wanted her to look forward to being with him - he wanted his nights with her to be the highlight of her week; for her to count down the hours to seeing him as much as he counted down the hours to seeing her.  He didn't want to keep messing things up, and risk her looking elsewhere.  He didn't want her walking into Cokeworth and meeting a handsome, polite, rich Muggle who could treat her right - a Muggle who could spend his days and nights with her, and provide her with all of the opportunities that he, Severus, couldn't.

No.  He didn't want that.  So he thought it was better to keep quiet - and he did, very successfully, right up until she'd started with the probing questions as they were leaving the room, and then he hadn't been able to help himself - he _wanted_ her to be as excited as he was.  He'd been walking on air ever since Malf had promised his assistance, and he wanted Lily to share in his glee.  It was her life and her papers, after all.  

As soon as the words left his lips, she threw her arms around his neck, and the look on her face meant she didn't have to say anything for him to understand how delighted she was.  And then, his only wish was that he'd said something sooner - that he'd murmured it as they'd Apparated to London, or as he'd walked her up to the hotel - because then they could've shared the excitement and anticipation together.

Instead, they were separate once more, their weekend together over.  He feels the loss so keenly, it's almost as if it had never happened.  He rolls over, and in Lily's absence, he pulls a pillow to his chest and holds it tightly.  He thinks about how she'd lain in his arms - him cradling his wife-to-be and his unborn child - and he smiles when he thinks about how the new papers are going to solve so many of their problems.  He's not daft, and he knows there's still a lot to work through - particularly now he's embroiled with Avery and his Strikers, and especially as Dumbledore's been pressing him for more detailed information - but the idea of papers has given Severus the one thing he's been missing for months.

_Hope._

And not just for Lily, but for Bean.  As a child of a Half and a Half, Severus feels certain that Bean's papers would be free from that Muggle taint which had so affected Lily, and had occasionally affected Severus himself.  Severus knew that if his mother hadn't been Pure, his own experiences would've been a lot worse, but now Bean didn't have to worry about any of that.  Severus could sit with Lily and together, they could sketch up a family tree full of Halfbloods and Purebloods, and nobody would challenge it.

She'd been worried about that.  Naturally.  Worried about the lies, worried that someone would spot an anomaly, worried that someone would speak out, but Severus knew better - he'd lived amongst status obsessed families for years, and he knew that it didn't matter that people had once known Lily Evans as having a different blood status.  Severus knew that the majority of the Purebloods in Slytherin had gone to great lengths to either cast off the unsavoury elements of their family tree or to hide any branches which could bring shame upon them.  No Halfblood trying desperately to prove their own Pureblood credentials was likely to point the finger at someone else - no-one was going to accuse another of being a liar, lest they inadvertently shone a light on their own status and family.

_Everyone has a skeleton hidden away._

Besides, if they gave it a few months, and if Severus made a name for himself within society, maybe few would connect the teenager Gryffindor Lily Evans with the sophisticated Mrs Snape, mother of Severus' child.  Especially if Lily changed her appearance - dyed her hair, or learnt a foreign language and pretended to come from a different country.  Or maybe they could forgo the pretence and just hide away in the countryside, only emerging in public when Bean was ready to go to Hogwarts, and then - in over a decade - nobody would even remember what Lily Evans looked like, much less care.

His holds the pillow even more tightly, trying not think about how his hands ache following the Avery-led skirmish he'd been part of earlier.  Pomfrey had seen to his injuries, as Dumbledore had promised - and although she hadn't asked many probing questions, her disapproving look had almost reminded him of Lily.  Then again, _everything_ reminds him of Lily - the longer they're apart, the worse this feeling becomes, and he's sick of not having her by his side.  He flicks his fingers loosely in the direction of the wall, and the light extinguishes.  

 _Not long now, Sev_ , he thinks.   _Get those papers for her, and then you can finally be together - all three of you._

* * *

"Poppy," Dumbledore says, peering over his glasses and staring at the figure at the doorway to his study, "do come in and be seated."

"Headmaster."  

"And to what do I owe the pleasure of your company at," and he pauses, glancing at his pocketwatch before standing.  "Poppy, it is almost midnight.  Has one of the students taken seriously ill?  Do you need an escort through to St Mungo's?"  

"No, Headmaster."  She takes the seat opposite him, her hands twisting.  "It's about Severus."

At this, Dumbledore settles himself back in his chair, turns over the page of parchment he'd been reading, and pushes his glasses up his crooked nose.  "He has been to visit you this evening?"

She nods.  "Several times, in fact, since we last spoke."

"And he is healed?"

"I can mend most of his wounds-"

Dumbledore's eyebrows raise.  "Only most?"

Pomfrey meets him with a fierce glare.  "I take it you are not calling my skills as a mediwitch into question?"

"Of course not," he says, amiably.  "His welfare is a task I would trust to no other."  He gives a tight smile.  "But your statement - and your very presence in my study at this hour - gave me reason to believe that there is a problem?  He is ailing?"  

"It is his _mind_ ," she implores, leaning forward.  "His flesh can be stitched and his bones regrown - but these are only his visible injuries…"

"He is suffering from internal difficulties?" Dumbledore asks, his voice low.  "...kidney failure, or heart damage, or-"

"His brain!"  

The pair fall silent at her sudden outburst - the only noises in the room being Dumbledore's collection of mechanical instruments clicking and clacking, and Fawkes repeatedly ruffling his feathers.

Eventually, Dumbledore takes off his glasses, and rubs at his eyes.  "I assume that you are not telling me that he sustained a blow to his skull this evening?"

"Albus," she says, more earnestly, "the boy returns to this castle sore, and bloodied, and beaten, and yet he does not utter a word."

"I have told him not to."

"So I take care of him the best I can, with the limited information that he gives me - he doesn't tell me how he sustained the burns, or the cuts, or the bruises - but when he keeps all of this to himself…"  She shakes her head.  "He needs someone to talk to."

"I always meet with Severus following such an occurrence."

"And do you listen to everything he has to say?"

"That is rather the point."

"Or are you simply collecting information from him?" she adds, acidly.  "The two, with the greatest of respect, Headmaster, are not the same."  

Dumbledore runs his hand over his eyes again, and then picks up his glasses, adjusting them on his nose.  "Severus has a role to play in this war.  As do we all."

"He's just a boy," she warns.  "If you do not safeguard him appropriately, you'll break him."

"On the contrary," he says, dismissively, "I believe that Severus is a surprisingly strong young man."  

* * *

Once Poppy departs, Dumbledore flips the parchment back over and continues to read intently.  He carefully makes notes with his quill as he reads the list of charges, followed by the detailed analysis submitted by the Ministry prosecution team - but his eyes narrow as he reaches the section where the defence comments should lie.

"Everard, I require your assistance," he says, sharply, causing the slumbering portraits to awaken.

"Dumbledore?"

"I need you to pass an urgent message to Cornelius."  He waves the parchment.  "The papers for Barty Crouch Jr's hearing have no defence listed.  If the Wizengamot convenes next week, as scheduled, he will be without representation.  I require a meeting with all concerned parties - before noon on Thursday."

"The boy has no representation?" Dilys says, her voice shrill with alarm.  "But then he shall be Kissed."

"One of mine?"

"Good evening, Phineas," Dumbledore says, quietly.  "I did not mean to stir all of you - merely Everard."

"Hardly evening," Phineas sniffs.  "Still, Crouch is a name of great importance in our world."

"This is not the time to be concerned with purity," Dilys argues, hotly.  

"It should make you all pause," the clever-looking wizard in the portrait continues, as if he hadn't been interrupted, "if a celebrated name such as Crouch can't find someone to defend him in these troubled times…" 

Dilys huffs.  "Really, Phineas!  A young man's life is at stake-"

Phineas rolls his eyes.  "There is always a life at stake, Dilys.  My concern is for due process."

"As is mine," says Dumbledore, quietly.  "As is mine."  

* * *

When he's presented with the robes and the mask, he's almost as fearful as he was the first time - then, it was the fear of the unknown; this time, he knows exactly what he's walking into, and he's terrified.

Avery cocks his head when Severus stalls pulling on the robes.  "Problem?"

"No," he says, quickly - but he knows his voice is watery and unconvincing.

"...I don't know," Avery says, finally.

"Don't know what? Why we've been called?"

"We rarely know why we've been called," Avery says, "but that's not what I mean."  Avery places his mask over his face, sealing it with a stroke of his fingertip along the edge.  "Whatever happened last time that's made you go as white as a sheet."

Severus tightens, pulling the robe over his head so he doesn't have to look Avery in the eye.  "I'm fine."

"Sev, this is me you're talking to.  You don't have to pretend.  I know you displeased the Dark Lord, but…"

"But what?"

"I don't know what he did to you as a punishment.  None of us do.  ...if that's what's bothering you."

Severus nods, and silently presses his new mask to his face, trying to seal it in the way that Avery had.  He runs his finger across it, but it doesn't take - and then Avery steps forward, pressing his cold digits against Severus' skin, and the mask adheres.  

"You'll get used to it," he says - but Severus isn't quite sure whether he's referring to the mask, or something else entirely.

* * *

He lands with more grace on this occasion, keeping his feet, and he quickly follows Avery's lead - backing into the crowd of people until they're several rows from the front, and well out of the Dark Lord's line of vision.

Just as before, all of those gathered are wearing the same robes and masks, and he can't distinguish any of them.  He can't tell if Malf is present, or Mulc, or Ros, or Reggie Black - but he does spy the Dark Lord, flanked once more by two figures. 

  _The same two_ , he thinks - _the favoured_.  

"Welcome to my brothers and sisters, old and new," booms the Dark Lord.  

Severus swallows hard, and then the Dark Lord stands, and all of the robed figures around him fall to their knees.  

"Down!" Avery hisses, yanking at Severus' sleeve.

Severus drops too - suddenly, heavily - and his knees painfully hit the mosaic floor.  He can hear footsteps marching around the room, and he glances to his side, where he sees Avery staring fixedly at the floor before him.  Severus doesn't dare to look up, taking his lead from his friend.  The footsteps echo, and then pause, and every part of him wants to lift his head - he wants to see what's made the Dark Lord stop, and wants to make sure that he isn't the focus of the Dark Lord's attention.

"Just the wizard I wished to see," the Dark Lord suddenly says - and Severus feels his heart skip when he hears the voice coming from the far side of the room.

 _Thank Merlin. He doesn't want me_.

"Do stand, Lucius, and follow me."

It takes a jostle of Avery's elbow to cause Severus to get to his feet.  As soon as he stands, he looks towards the front, seeing a hooded, masked and robed figure striding behind the Dark Lord, and then stopping before the grand throne.  The Dark Lord seats himself, and then nods, and Lucius removes both his mask and his hood, his platinum hair bright despite the dim glow from the wall torches.

"My Lord.  I am at your service."

"Indeed you are, Lucius," says the Dark Lord in an amused tone.  "I wished to welcome you back into the fold."

"My Lord, my faith never wavered."

There's a low, dark chuckle from the seated wizard.  "No," he says, solemnly.  "No, that was all your father, wasn't it?"

"My Lord."

"And yet he has now had a change of heart."  The Dark Lord gives a tight smile.  "Perhaps his wanderings around Europe have given him a new outlook upon life."

"Perhaps, my Lord."

"...tell me, Lucius, where did you say your father had been?  Scandinavia, was it?"

"For a while," Lucius says, and Severus can hear the evasion in his voice.

"For a while," repeats the Dark Lord, the smirk on his face growing.  "And where else did your dear father rest his head _for a while_?"

"Central Europe," Lucius says, a little more forcefully.  "The usual places of interest for learned wizards, such as ourselves."

"Learned wizards?"  The Dark Lord pauses, as if contemplating this thought.  "And I assume he met other learned wizards on his travels?"

"I do not know, but I would assume so, my Lord." 

The Dark Lord moves a little closer.  "And these learned wizards, tell me, Lucius, would they be Grindelwald loyalists?  Those who have yet evaded capture?"

Lucius' mouth opens slightly, the question catching him off-guard - and then he composes himself, pulling his shoulders tight.  "Grindelwald?"

"The money stops," the Dark Lord says, quietly, "and your father disappears to the continent.  I can only conclude that your father has decided to follow another.  A dark wizard who is weak," he says, his voice growing louder, "a so-called dark wizard who could be defeated by the pious Albus Dumbledore is no dark wizard!"

"I assure you, the male Malfoys remain your loyal servants, my Lord."

"All of the male Malfoys?"

Lucius nods.  "All of us."

"You and your father?"

"Yes, my Lord.  Always."

The Dark Lord nods, looking pleased.  "I wish to speak with Abraxas.  You shall set this in motion."

"Yes, my Lord."

"I am displeased that this situation continued for so long," the Dark Lord continues.  "I have been displeased that you have failed to show your strength until this moment," - and the room seems to hold its collective breath as the Dark Lord's eyes flicker with malice, "but I am gratified that once you were given opportunity, you have made great efforts to make amends.  This pleases me, Lucius."

"That is all I aim to do, my Lord.  I am but your faithful servant."

"This must not occur again," he says, softly, "but I shall not punish the son for his father's deeds."

Severus watches his old friend keenly, seeing the softening of his shoulders as he realises that on this occasion, he's not to be punished.

"And what of your son, Lucius?"

A sudden sharp gasp floods the room, and Severus' stomach rolls.  

The colour in Lucius' face that had returned a moment earlier immediately drains.  "I'm…I..."

"You are to have a son," the Dark Lord presses, loudly.  "Your wife, you cannot have failed to notice, is with child."  He points his wand at Lucius' robes.  "Roll up your sleeve."

Lucius hurriedly pulls at the cloth covering his left arm, dragging it to his elbow, and bares his forearm to the older wizard.  The Dark Lord presses the tip of his wand against Lucius' skin, and instantly, about a tenth of the room hiss, and clutch at their own forearms.  

Severus looks around, grateful that his mask is concealing his alarm at seeing so many bent at the waist, anguish clear in their body language - and Avery amongst them.

 _His brand!_    _Lucius must have it too_.

"You belong to me, Lucius."

"My Lord."

"And your son shall join my ranks.  He shall belong to me."

"My Lord."

"All those who feel my magic pulsing through your veins - you belong to me!"

"My Lord!" the group choruses.

"All those who remain unmarked - this is what your future holds.  You are _mine_ , and I?  I am yours.  I am your faithful and benevolent Lord.   _I_ alone have the power to lead us to a brighter future - and as a witch or wizard who supports me, you will be richly rewarded.  You and your families."  He presses the tip of his wand to Lucius' skin once more, and those marked all groan - as if he's shot pleasure through the mark instead of pain.  "You shall aspire to join my select group.  The most ardent.  The most loyal.  The most talented. What say you all?"

"Yes, my Lord," the room choruses - and Severus' voice is loud and strong and clear amongst them.


	65. I chose my path

"Knock knock," he calls, poking his head around the open door of Avery's office.

"Sev!"

Severus grins, and steps in, closing the door behind him.  "You sent for me?"

"I did."  Avery rummages in his drawer.  "Got you something."  He pauses.  "Well?"

"Well what?"

"Close your eyes," Avery says, looking a little disgruntled.  "That's what you do when someone has a surprise for you."

Severus instinctively slides his wand down into his hand.  "Oh?"  He gives a soft laugh.  "I was best mates with Malfoy, remember?  I never closed my eyes in his company."

Thankfully, Avery's irritation is quick to disappear when Severus slights Malfoy, and he laughs loudly.  "Those days are over, Sev.  Now close your eyes."

He does, and he listens intently, trying to gauge where Avery is in the room - and then he feels his left hand being lifted from his side.  He relaxes it, and permits Avery to turn it over, his palm facing upwards.  Then he feels something small and slender being placed in it.

"Can I look?"

"Yes."

Severus opens his eyes, and they widen further when he sees the Striker badge in his hand.

Avery beams.  "Told you I'd look after you, Sev."  He nods, looking pleased with himself, and then heads back around the desk, sitting heavily in his chair.  "You've done well."

"...haven't done much."

"You have," Avery says.  "Fourteen full incidents, I've counted.  And all of those reconnaissance missions with me."

Silently, he pockets the badge.  "And now?  Now that I'm in the fold?"

Avery shrugs.  "No difference.  Just turn up when I say you should."

"And that's enough?"  

"They understand that you're stuck with your apprenticeship.  I've explained." 

"Thanks."

"You stick with me," Avery grins.  "I'll see you right, Sev.  Now, about that warehouse storing fireworks in Ipswich-"

* * *

She's feeling more and more isolated with each Order meeting she attends.  There's something going on with the group of troublesome boys - Potter still smiles when she enters, whilst Lupin eyes her curiously, but it's Black and Pettigrew that strike fear into her.  

She's certain that Potter's still interested in pursuing a relationship with her, so she sits a safe distance from him - she doesn't want to turn him against her, but without the shield of a visible partner, she doesn't want him to misinterpret their friendship as being potentially something more.  She isn't sure how she'd react if he made an overt move, and she wants Potter to remain entirely oblivious to the truth about her and Severus.

It's where Lupin has started to become a concern.  Every few weeks, as the moon waxes in the sky, Severus' mood becomes darker, and his muttering becomes louder - but she knows he's still faithfully delivering her potion to Lupin as they'd agreed.  She knows Lupin's desperate to quiz her about the arrangement - desperate to hear that it's still her potion and not the handiwork of Severus, but such confessions would confirm their relationship, and would put everyone in the group a step closer to finding out their most important secret that they've gone to such lengths to conceal - their beloved Bean.  

So she doesn't invite conversation with Lupin, and as much as she can sense his curiosity, he doesn't press the point, evidently fearful that if he causes trouble, the potion may stop being delivered entirely - and a potion apparently brewed and delivered by Severus is better than no potion at all.  

Despite these problems beating away in the background, Potter and Lupin aren't the two causing her heart to race.  Instead, it's the constant whispering and staring emanating from Pettigrew and Black which is her concern.  It's not hatred on their faces, or even dislike - it's not akin to the memories that Severus shared with her, where Black was bullying him, and baiting him, and attacking him.  It's confidence, and arrogance, and perhaps even triumph - and Pettigrew is sniggering and smirking, and Black's ruffling his friend's hair, and she can't quite make head nor tail of their behaviour.

She briefly thinks about asking Severus what he thinks she should do when he arrives at weekend, but then almost immediately dismisses the thought - since their wonderful date, he's been increasingly distracted during their visits, sometimes tired, sometimes even injured - and she doesn't want to open old wounds and cause him to fret over his old enemies, particularly if Dumbledore is already pushing him into the line of fire.

Besides, she knows Severus so well, she doesn't need to ask him - she knows what he'd say.   _Don't bother with them anymore, love_.  She can almost hear the words in his voice - and then she looks around the room, taking in the odd group who oscillate between treating her as if she's one of them, and then as if she truly is the easy witch who lies with the nearest Death Eater.  It troubles her that her path of deception has led so many of them to distrust her - and she never quite knows which combination of members will be in attendance, and therefore, which reception she's due to receive when she walks in the door.

_As if pregnancy wasn't tiring enough already_ , she thinks.   _It might be no loss if I were to stop being part of the Order_ , and then she takes a deep breath, as if the thought has stunned her.   _Is that what I really feel?_

She looks around the room once more, and her eyes meet Black's, and he grins, and it's unsettling, and she's on the brink of standing and leaving - not just this meeting, but for good - and it's at that moment when Potter slides into the seat next to hers, familiar cheer on his face.

"Glad you're here tonight, Evans," he says.  "These meetings are never the same without you.  So!  How's life on the run?"

* * *

Severus is certain Dumbledore knows what he's been doing, and can tell that he's enjoying himself a little too much.  He's sure that Dumbledore can sense it, even smell it on him - that exhilaration and joy, the love of the fight and the rush of adrenaline.  

_He knows._

They sit opposite each other, a desk between them, and there's a firm challenge in the older man's gaze, even if his voice remains neutral, and his demeanour is affable and calm.  

_He doesn't know.  How can he know?_

Dumbledore's ostentatious quill scratches across parchment, noting Severus' commentary from his latest raid, his garbled version of events faithfully transcribed and committed to page, just like all of the ones before.  

_Stop being paranoid._

Black eyes meet blue, and this time, he's not so sure that Dumbledore has the measure of him.  This time, he doesn't see challenge or rebuke in Dumbledore's eyes, but something else.  Interest?  Curiosity?  Concern?

_Not concern.  It can't be concern.  Not for me_.

Whatever it is, it causes Severus to pause, his long fingers rammed deep into his pockets, twisting the inner material to soothe his anxiety.  He wonders how much Pomfrey is reporting back, even though she's sworn that she's Severus' confidant and not Dumbledore's spy, but Severus is too old to believe in such fairytales.  

_If he tasked me to spy amongst the Death Eaters, then why wouldn't he task his mediwitch to spy upon his spy?_

So he doesn't say much to her.  Nothing that he wouldn't say to Dumbledore in these sessions.  He's clipped in her presence - perfunctory, and although his own behaviour sickens him when he glances over and catches her wincing at his caustic refusal of aid, he shakes the feeling of guilt away.  This isn't personal.  He can't let her in.  He can't let his guard down.

_This is a test_.

It's clever, really - but then, Dumbledore always is.  Slughorn wouldn't perform the role of confidant adequately - too self-involved, and self-obsessed, and skirting on the edges of danger himself, keeping company with Borage and Jigger and Belby and Malfoy - yet rationally, there's nobody else credible.  He wasn't like Lily, universally adored by the teachers - and he was never a devoted disciple of Flitwick, as she was.  McGonagall has thawed of late, her tone softening since his latest appearance in the castle, but their history was too long and cold for such a turnaround to be plausible.

_He might be daft enough to spy on the Dark Lord, but he's not so stupid to think that the professors accept him._

There would've been Sprout, perhaps, in those early years.  She was jolly and well-meaning, but her gentle attitude towards him had soured when he'd neglected his outside crops.  He'd begged her for months to permit him access to the private patch near to the kitchens, and yet despite a positive start, he'd let the plants wilt and die and rot.  She'd assumed that it was lack of fortitude - lack of stamina when it came to nurturing a seedling from scratch, unprotected from the outside elements, the wind and rain and frost unforgiving without the glass confines of the greenhouse to assist.  

"I'm surprised at you, Severus," she'd said, in a tone that suggested disappointment rather than outright shock.

He'd wanted to say something, but he'd never been able to tell her why.  He couldn't tell her about the nightmares - about the wolf, and about his father, about the dog, and the scars, and being kicked down the stairs, or the knife sliding through skin, or the whistle of the belt, and most of all, he couldn't confess to the thrill he'd felt when those warm innards spilled across his bloodied hands.  He couldn't tell her why he didn't want to be outside - in a yard or in a garden or even in an allotment by the kitchens.  It wasn't overly rational even when you knew the whole story.  A hotchpotch of truths would be even less believable, so he simply hadn't bothered to construct a tale of sufficient woe.

"Sorry, professor," he'd mumbled, instead.  

It wasn't enough, and he was fairly sure that she would never forgive him.  She'd believed in him, and he'd let her down.  He'd made her believe he was someone different, someone trustworthy and loyal and reliable, and it turned out to be a pack of lies.  Of course, as was her way, she congratulated him whenever she saw him leaving the greenhouses, his arms full of harvested ingredients - but there was a new chill to her tone that he couldn't escape, not even when he'd returned to the castle as an adult.

As for the rest, Binns was a non-entity, Kettleburn a danger to be around, and although there had been Defence teachers he'd idolised, none of them had stayed for more than a few months - and there was nobody else he could claim to having a genuine relationship with, positive or not.  

Severus had been quiet in class, and a Slytherin by colour, a no-name bullied Halfblood with dangerous friends in his youth, and in a socially endangering relationship with a Muggleborn in his later years.  He was invisible at first, and then infamous later - but nobody truly knew him.  Not on the staff.  

But Pomfrey was different.  It was Pomfrey who had tended to him that night, Pomfrey who had argued with the Headmaster, Pomfrey who had smoothed his greasy hair from his face as he'd tossed in the bed, the salivating wolf parading fearlessly through his private slumber.

If he could talk to anyone, it would be Pomfrey, but he knew that Dumbledore knew that - so he didn't.

"Anything further you wish to add, Severus?"

"No, sir."

Dumbledore pauses, his quill still on the page.  "It does not matter how inconsequential it may seem.  The slightest hint might give us an advantage in the future."

Severus shakes his head.  "Sorry, sir.  I don't have anything else.  Not tonight."

At this, Dumbledore nods sharply and caps his ink.  He wafts the parchment, encouraging the words on the page to dry, and then places the page in his desk drawer.  To Severus' surprise, the older man places his elbows on his desk, and steeples his fingers before his face.  "And you, Severus."

"Me, sir?"

"What of you?"

Severus feels his lungs tighten.  "...I don't understand."

It's fleeting, but a hint of irritation casts across Dumbledore's face - but as soon as Severus recognises it, it disappears, and the older wizard's visage is kindly and understanding once more.  "I am concerned about _you_ , Severus.  Particularly in light of your recent change of status.  I have not given you the easiest of tasks."

"I can do what needs to be done."

Dumbledore smiles.  "I am certain of it, else I would not have requested your assistance."  He pauses, wiping his glasses on his sleeve, and then returns them to his face.  "But that as may be, I know that it must be a terrible strain for you, informing on your friends."

"...they're not my friends."

"Your _former_ friends," Dumbledore amends.  "You were close at one time."

"At one time," Severus echoes, dully.  "With respect, sir, I am exhausted."  

_And in no mood for riddles_ , he thinks.

Dumbledore nods.  "If you'll indulge me once more before you retire for the evening-"

"Sir?"

"...do you believe you are any closer to being accepted within the wider group, or do all of your hopes lie with Mr Avery?"

Severus jolts, as if he's been slapped.  "If I didn't have Ave, we'd be nowhere."

"Severus-"

"This isn't easy!  Do you know what they hiss at me, for betraying them for a Muggleborn for all those years?  What they say about her?  What they imply about me?  No?"

"...I can imagine."

"Good!"  His eyes glint with hard delight.  "I'm glad you can imagine it, because there is no chance that I'd be taken seriously as a wizard amongst them if Ave didn't have my back."

"Severus, please do not take my words as a criticism," Dumbledore says, gently, "I am grateful for all you have done.  You have clearly proven yourself to be worthy of Mr Avery's friendship."

Severus sniffs dismissively, but his shoulders relax, indicating that he's sufficiently mollified by Dumbledore's speedy reaction to his perceived slight.  "Because you asked," he says, eventually.  "Remember that."

"And what do you see Mr Avery's motive as?"

"He's a purist.  Doesn't the Hogwarts' book tell you that?  Decades and decades of unsullied blood-"

Dumbledore gives a slight shake of his head.  "You misunderstand my question," he says.  "Not his motive for following, but his ready acceptance of you - for which," he quickly adds, noting Severus' mutinous expression, "we are extremely grateful."  He pauses, and then elaborates further.  "I realised you had an association at Hogwarts, but I didn't expect him to welcome you so openly after so long."

Severus shrugs.  "Ave always was a bit of an outsider.  Mulciber and Rosier, they weren't ever my closest friends, but they…"  He glances at his shoes, and then back up at Dumbledore.

"Go on, Severus."

"They feared me.  They wanted to look down on me, treat me as lesser - and they did!  Ave had it the other way around.  He was one of them to begin with - better name, better robes, better blood.  But he wasn't talented, wasn't special."

"But you were."

This time, there's a very long pause.  Severus' eyes track Dumbledore's, neither of them giving anything away.

"Tell me more about how you were special, Severus," he requests, his voice deadly soft.

"...Ave was a hanger on," Severus deflects, ignoring the question.  "He laughed loudly at their jokes, and he took the fall for their misdemeanours, but he wasn't ever one of them."  He glances away again.  "I didn't have the name or the blood, but I had the talent.  I might've been one of them.  If I'd stayed."

"But you didn't stay."

"I couldn't."

"Because Miss Evans rather publicly chose you."

"And I chose her!" he retorts, hotly.  "I had a _choice_!  I chose my path!  I could've said no.  I could've pushed her away and laughed at her, agreed with them when they said I was using her for a cheap..."  He falters, running his hands over his face, and then his volume drops, but his voice hardens further, his words fierce.  "I could've had a different life.  An easier life.  It was mine to take, and all I had to do was follow them."  He gives Dumbledore a pained look.  "I _chose_ her.  I chose Lily.  I chose _us_!"

Dumbledore nods, only the tiniest twitch of his lips betraying any emotion at Severus' outburst.  "I recall.  But despite those actions, Mr Avery is ready to believe your change of heart."

"He thinks I never changed.  That she was just…  That I was using her."  He shakes his head.  

"And you've convinced him of this?  Solidified his belief?"

Severus nods, glumly.  "But he's wrong."

"Good," Dumbledore says, leaving Severus uncertain which part has pleased him.  "Do you think he will convince the others of your never lost fervour?"  

Severus gives a half shrug.  "That all depends on what's in it for Ave.  He wants me because he's got nobody else."

"I see.  He's, would you say, insecure?  Jealous?  Perhaps keen to show off that he has a new friend, yet less keen to share him with others?"

The thought of Avery's desire for a threesome suddenly swirls in Severus' mind, and he quickly looks away from Dumbledore's gaze.  "Something like that," Severus mutters.

"As much as I applaud your current efforts, I must ask-"

"-I can't drop him."

"I am asking whether you believe that Mr Avery is sufficiently involved within the machine to continue to be useful to us?"  Dumbledore appraises Severus, and then lowers his voice.  "To our shared goal, Severus."

Severus thinks, inhaling deeply before answering.  "I'm not denying that association with Mulc or Ros or Reggie might be more fruitful," he says, "certainly in the short term.  But Ave isn't the dullard you're making him out to be.  He leads his group of Strikers.  He'd be a dangerous enemy for anyone to have."

"I didn't request that you make an enemy of him."

"No?  If I betray him and join forces with the others, then that's how he'll see me!"

Dumbledore gives a tight smile.  "I have no intention of you breaking your association with Mr Avery.  You said yourself," and he rifles through some parchment, checking his handwritten notes, "Avery might not be popular amongst the others, but he's got a reputation amongst the leaders for getting things done."  He raises an eyebrow.  "He is trusted by those above, would you say, Severus?"

"Yes!"  Severus looks earnest.  "He does the dirty work.  The stuff that nobody else wants to do, and that makes him valuable to the movement."

"And if Mr Avery is valued, if he is trusted by those above, do you think you might also be trusted?"

"...I don't know," he says, truthfully.  "I'm a nobody.  And they trust Ave's results, not his taste in friends.  This isn't school - this isn't a popularity contest!"

At this, Dumbledore smiles more broadly.  "Indeed it is not."  He leans forward.  "Tell me, Severus, how would you feel if we were to increase that trust?"


	66. Swish of a cloak

It's late in the evening, and it's a Wednesday - so when he swings her bedroom door open, she looks up from the cauldron, startled.

"Sev!  ...what is it?  What's going on?"  She casts a quick stasis charm at the cauldron and quickly heads towards him.

As she moves, he notes that her bump is more prominent than ever, and a rush of protectiveness showers him.  He welcomes her into his embrace, cocooning both her and Bean in his arms, and breathes in deeply.  He lets out a small sigh of contentment as the familiar scent of her - her shampoo, her soap, her perfume, _her_ \- invades his senses.  

"I love that you're here," she murmurs into his chest, almost hating to interrupt the moment, "but _why_ , Sev?  It's not weekend."

"I've got news," he says, and he gently places his fingers beneath her chin, tilting her face towards him.  

"What?" she whispers, anxiously - but she relaxes slightly as she takes in his expression; his eyes are warm, and his smile wide, and he kisses her softly before resting his forehead against hers.  "What is it, Sev?"

"Cissy," he says, beaming, "she's had their baby."

Immediately, her hand runs over Bean, and Severus' joins her, the pair of them smiling at the thrum of magic that beats back at their actions.

"Is she-"

"Blooming," he says, kissing the concern from her knitted brow.  "Radiant."

"Exhausted, I bet."

He grins.  "That too.  And their boy's got a set of lungs on him," he laughs, "so I doubt Malf'll be getting much sleep for a while."

"...do you think he'll mind?"

"The way he looked at his son?"  Severus gives a slight shake of his head.  "I reckon that kid could play drums all night every night until he's forty eight, and Malf would still worship the ground he walks on."

"...and you?"

"Me?  I reckon Malf would Avada me if I went around and starting playing drums through the night.  They've got a new baby, you know."

"Idiot," she laughs, holding Severus more tightly.  "I meant, is that how you're going to feel about Bean?"

He kisses her again, and then drops to one knee, his hand trailing over her swollen midriff.  He tugs at the material of her top, sliding it up from her hips to expose bare skin beneath, and then he kisses her bump.  "I can't wait to meet you, Bean," he says, happily, "but if you're going to take up drums, I might ask you to start sleeping over at Cissy and Malf's."  

She laughs again, and taps him gently on his nose - and when he stands once more, she takes his hands, squeezing them tightly.  

"You okay?" he says, his eyebrows rising at her unusual reaction.  "She's fine, Lil, I promise.  And baby, he's fine too.  He's this pink scrunched up thing with some weird blond fuzz, and Malf - well, Malf's probably not fine because he's walking around like an inflated balloon, and he looks like he's about to burst with pride."

He shoots her a lopsided smile, trying to get her to laugh at his silly joke - but her face crumples, tears forming in her eyes, and he looks fearful.  "Lil, what's wrong?"

"...I'm scared, Sev," she says, her voice wobbling.  "It's not long now for me, for us-"

"You'll be fine."

"It's going to hurt!  And what if you're not here like Malf was for Cissy-"

"I'll be here," he says, solemnly, "I promise."

"But you don't know-"

"-and I'm here now," he continues firmly, holding her tightly.  He reaches behind her, and casts his hand at the cauldron, causing the stasis charm to elongate.

"No, I need to-"

"You need to get into bed with me, love," he says, "that can wait until tomorrow."

"But what about Hogwarts-"

"What about it?  I can stay tonight and head back tomorrow."  He smiles again, brushing a piece of hair from out of her eyes.  "Besides, I want to fall asleep holding you both in my arms."

She gives him a tearful smile as she watches him tidy the ingredients whilst she undresses and gets under the covers.  

A few moments later, he tears off his own clothes, leaving them in a messy bundle on the floor, and then slides into the bed beside her, before snapping the light off with a controlled flick of his fingers in the air.  "Comfy?" he murmurs, as he pulls her closer.

"Yes," she says, nestling her head in the crook of his neck.  "Sev, I miss this.  I miss you so much."

"I miss you more," he says, and then he lightly drops a kiss on the top of her head, "but we're together now, and that's all that matters."

* * *

Later, when she thinks about it, she realises that she knew there was something amiss.  She knew he had an ulterior motive - that he wouldn't turn up unannounced midweek just to tell her the news about Lucius and Narcissa's baby.  When she thinks it through, she realises that he might've been concerned that she'd go travelling up to Malfoy Manor and fear the worst when she was turned away by an unpleasant house elf - but even so, it wasn't a strong enough motive for him to visit.  And she knows for certain that he wouldn't have turned up midweek just because he missed her - _he misses you every day, like you miss him -_ or because he wanted to hold her in his arms.  

She knows he's not lying about any of those things.  She knows that he wouldn't tell her that Cissy was fine unless she was, and he wouldn't pretend that he missed her if he didn't - and he'd looked so peaceful when he was sleeping, so content to be coiled around her, she knew he'd been telling the truth.

As the clock strikes midday and she's still staring at the book from the Malfoy library, tears blurring her vision, she can't decide how she feels.  She's terrified at his request - scared that he trusts her, and trusts her ability to such a degree - and then she marvels that he was able to sleep at all with this playing on his mind.  She can't believe that he'd come to her in need, and when he'd found her wanting, he'd put her first - she needed his support, so he was the partner that she needed him to be rather than requesting her assistance.

But his plea had come the morning after, just before he'd travelled back to Scotland, and now the tears won't stop, and she has to move the book away from her lap lest the pages crinkle - and she presses her right hand to her mouth, and her left hand against Bean, and she sobs.  She sobs for Severus, and she sobs for herself, and she sobs for Bean's future.  It doesn't take long until her mother makes the climb up the stairs, and sweeps her daughter into her arms, and Lily sobs even more loudly, the book on Obliviation falling heavily onto the floor below.

* * *

"Wondered when you'd show," Avery grumbles, locking his desk drawer and shrugging on his cloak.  "We need to start following that Muggle at eight, and I'm starving-"

"One thing," Severus interrupts, holding his finger aloft, "before we get started on the good stuff."  He glances dramatically left and right, as if expecting Cornelius Fudge himself to leap out from behind the cloak stand.

"What?"

"...Dumbledore's heading this way.  He was preparing to leave as I was heading down the hill."

"Dumbledore?  Here?"  

Severus nods.  "For an important meeting with Fudge, Crouch, Scrimgeour," and then he trails off.  "I don't know who else, but with that group of wizards?  I reckon it's about Barty."

Avery's expression is greedy.  "And you want to get us in on it?"

Severus gives him a withering look.  "I doubt either of us will pass for a senior Ministry official and be welcomed in for tea and biscuits," he says, "but Dumbledore's a suspicious creature."

"I don't get it."

"They're not going to discuss the good stuff in Fudge's office," Severus says, slowly.  "He's paranoid, and those portraits talk-"

"We can get a portrait!"  Avery eagerly stashes his wand up his sleeve, readying himself to move.  "Threaten it with turpentine!"

"Perhaps," Severus says, trying to keep calm in the face of such a ludicrous suggestion, "but we could just listen in, and find out where they're going to hold the real discussion."

"Yeah, I guess," Avery says, looking a little deflated.

"Then we follow them, and then we'll have something useful for the Dark Lord," Severus grins, looking mischievous.

"And then he'll reward us handsomely," Avery says, clapping Severus on his shoulder.  "This is the best chance we've had in weeks.  I _knew_ you'd be a natural at this Striker stuff, Sev.  I knew it!" 

* * *

_Don't mess this up, Ave_ , Severus thinks, as he watches his friend loitering near Fudge's office.  He glances around, checking that one of the keen young aurors - a Thicknesse or a Shacklebolt, perhaps - wasn't about to happen upon them, and then looks back at Avery with a questioning look on his face.  

_Come on, Ave.  Surely Dumbledore's given the agreed location by now?_

Avery shakes his head to the unspoken question on Severus' face, and indicates that Severus should concentrate on keeping watch.  Severus does, knowing full well that Dumbledore can't be long off uttering the agreed location - the disused storage room near to the toilets on the uppermost floor, biding his time - and then Severus sees Avery's eyes widen, glee on his face, and he watches as Avery lopes up the corridor, trying desperately to keep his footsteps quiet.

"That old storage room on the top floor," Avery says, breathlessly, "by the toilets."

Severus glances over his shoulder again.  "And are you going, or me?  Or both of us?"

"Not both of us.  Too obvious having both of us hanging around."  

"You want me to go then?"

"No," Avery says, quickly, greedy for glory once more, "you stay here."  He grins broadly, and sets off down the corridor, traversing again in front of Fudge's office as he heads towards the staircase.

With one final look over his shoulder, Severus whips his wand from his sleeve and casts a tripping jinx at Avery's feet, causing him to land heavily outside Fudge's office.  To Avery's horror, the door is yanked open whilst he's sprawled on the ground.

"Avery?  What's the meaning of this?"

* * *

Severus races to the upper floor, and secretes himself in the toilets.  He thinks about removing a panel in the ceiling, and genuinely listening in - but then decides that the fallout isn't worth it if he's found.

 _Don't go taking unnecessary risks._   

Instead, he puts the seat down in the sole cubicle, and sits, turning the created story over and over in his mind, making sure there's no holes in his practised monologue - or the execution of the plan he's putting all of his faith in.

_Don't panic.  Wait this out, then get to Lily.  You can do this.  She can do this._

* * *

"Fuck," Avery says, hours later, his eyes gleaming with excitement as he paces around his flat.  "This is gold, Sev.   _Gold_!"

"What do we do?"

"...we need to tell someone."

Severus glances up from his position on the sofa.  "What, like Ros?"

"Haven't seen Ros in weeks.  Or Mulc."  Avery shakes his head.  "They'd take this off us."

Severus does his best to look surprised.  "They'd take the credit?"

Avery gives a scornful laugh.  "Course they would!  Look, you don't know what they were like once you…"  He looks betrayed.  "They're only in it for themselves.  We're keeping this for us, Sev."

Severus exhales loudly.  "So what, do we wait for a meeting or…"  He points at Avery's arm, a sudden grin appearing on his face.  "You said he can call you, but does it work the other way?  Can you communicate with him?"

"I can alert him," Avery says, looking fearful, "but I wouldn't want to without good reason."

Severus pores over the sheet of parchment where he's faithfully transcribed Dumbledore's words.  "Do you think this is good reason?  ...I mean, if we wait, and it's important, and then he finds out..."

After a long moment, Avery nods.  "But you should come with me," he says, "when he summons me."

"I'm not really one of you."

"You are!" Avery insists.  "And this was all you.  You did all the work, whilst I spent half an hour explaining why I'd taken a wrong turn to Dawlish."  He grimaces.  "Bloody Dawlish."

"...what did you say to him?"

"Said I got out of the lift at the wrong floor.  Blamed that dull looking attendant."

 _Wallace_.

"Oh?  Won't he be-"

"What?" Avery laughs.  "Don't go getting your knickers in a knot about some Mudblood lift minion, Sev.  He's no loss.  They can have house elves do that work.  Or goblins.  Or some other creature."  He shrugs.

"Dawlish, Ave," Severus says, coolly, and trying not to let his temper get the better of him, "you were telling me about Dawlish."

"Yeah, he reckons he's going to keep his eye on me," Avery mutters, "you know what he's like.  Thinks he's some big shot just because he aced the auror exam.  He's a Ravenclaw, of course he aced it!"  Avery snorts.  "...I could've aced it."

_Aced it?  Yeah, if acing it means getting just one mark out of five hundred._

Severus hides his thoughts behind his Occlumency barriers and smirks.  "But we both know that being a Striker is better."

"Exactly, Sev, exactly!"

* * *

The pair look as green as the grass outside when they hear heavy footsteps outside of Avery's flat, but when Severus peers through the window, he sees that it's not the Dark Lord responding to them.

"It's Mulc," Severus hisses, and Avery scrambles to open the door.

"Mulc," he says, swinging the heavy door backwards, and inviting him in with a wave of his hand, "what are you doing here?"

"Never mind what am I doing here," he starts, angrily, "but what the bloody fucking hell are you two idiots doing trying to summon the Dark Lord?"

* * *

They Apparate together, and then they follow Mulciber through the winding building.  Severus' first thought all those months ago was correct; it's not a Malfoy owned mansion, but the feel is similar - starker, less ostentatious, but grand all the same.  

 _Maybe a Black or a Lestrange or a Yaxley_.

Neither Severus or Avery are masked, or even hooded - but Mulciber seems not to care.  They don't encounter another soul as Mulciber briskly marches them in and out of rooms, up large staircases, and down long corridors, until he finally comes to rest at a set of double doors.  He knocks loudly, and then they hear the unmistakable tones of the Dark Lord.

"Enter, and kneel."

Severus gives a startled glance towards Avery, who shrugs, and as they both step forward, Mulciber puts his hand out, stopping them from moving.  

"He means me, not you two fools," he hisses.  "Stay here until you're summoned directly."

* * *

Avery's first to be called, and Severus stands alone in the corridor, his mind racing.  He doesn't know what to expect - doesn't know if Avery will earn the Dark Lord's wrath for daring to disturb him, or whether Mulciber's later assessment of the situation was correct - whether the information they could provide was worthy of bringing to the Dark Lord's attention.

 _This is more terrifying than the group meetings_ , he thinks, fighting the urge to start pacing up and down the corridor.   _At least in the group meetings there's witnesses.  Here…  Here, he could kill us and nobody would know._

Severus tries to dampen down the thought.  He knows the Dark Lord can read minds, and he doesn't want the Dark Lord to see how terrified he is, lest he exploit it.   _A little awe is enough_ , Severus thinks, closing his eyes and trying to concentrate on ordering his pulsing thoughts.   _Admiration.  Respect.  A touch of fear.  That's what he wants to see._

When Mulciber calls him through, Severus sees Avery kneeling before the Dark Lord, his forearm bared.  Severus' feet automatically still at a distance from the pair, not daring to venture too near - not until the Dark Lord raises a long finger and beckons him.

"Come closer.  I do not wish to raise my voice," the Dark Lord intones.  "It is so uncouth when the room is so sparse."

Severus glances around him, and the Dark Lord's description is accurate - aside from the grand chair in which he is seated, and a fireplace on the far side, the room is empty.  Mulciber stands behind Severus, by the door, and Avery is on the floor before the Dark Lord.  Severus swallows hard, and then strides forwards, settling on his knees next to Avery.  

"My Lord."

"Avery here has brought me some news this evening."

"Yes, my Lord."

"It is from your mouth, is it not?"

"Yes, my Lord."

The Dark Lord hisses loudly.  "It is unfortunate."

He doesn't know what to say to that, so he keeps silent, his eyes trained on the floor before him.

"Eyes on me," the Dark Lord instructs, coolly.  

Severus slowly raises his head, and when the Dark Lord's gleaming eyes meet his own, it feels as if he's been plunged into a bath filled with ice.  He gasps, unwittingly, and the Dark Lord gives a harsh laugh at his reaction.

"We have been through this before, have we not?"

Severus nods, quickly, annoyed that he'd given reason for his previous encounter to be revisited; terrified that the Dark Lord has reason to reveal the beating he'd endured previously - to shame him before Avery, and worse, Mulciber.

Then, the Dark Lord chuckles, and the chill disappears, and the terrifying wizard settles his gaze on Avery, and Severus has to grip his fists by his side, his fury building.  

 _What the fuck are you doing, being so transparent!_    _Focus!  He'll see everything!_

And then he feels panic rising in his chest, strangling him, and he watches helplessly as the Dark Lord raises his wand, and murmurs something at Avery, and Severus can't hear anymore - can't hear the spell - because his blood is beating so loudly in his ears, and he wants to fall on the floor and scream, and he wonders what he's doing here and then, just as suddenly as it started, the panic starts to wane.

_What the fuck am I doing here?_

He controls his breathing, glancing sideways and seeing Avery being held at wandpoint, the Dark Lord tilting his head one way and then the other, as if examining Avery's eyes.

_Why did I come back to this mad man?  I was here, with Malf, because I messed up on that potion - and then he beat me, and then the box failed, and I went to Sluggy, and we did the box and…_

It takes all of his effort not to shake his head; he can't piece the puzzle together.  He can't remember why he started hanging out with Avery instead of Malfoy, and he can't remember how he's ended up on his knees on this floor.  He can remember the piece of parchment at Avery's flat, and he remembers the words tumbling from his mouth, and he can remember sitting in the toilets, the monologue forming in his mind - and he can remember being in the hallway, and him jinxing Avery, and…

 _Nothing_.   _Why would I pretend to spy on Dumbledore?_

It doesn't make sense.  He thinks there might be something - something in the box, but he remembers enough of last time not to want to touch it.  The box is sturdier now, that much he knows - when he tries to envisage it, he can almost touch it, but then there's a darkness, like a swish of a cloak, and the box is covered and disappears and it's gone, but he knows it's there, and then he's not sure, and then-

"Do you ignore Dumbledore's orders as well, I wonder?"

At these words, Severus immediately jolts.  "My Lord?"

"Tell me," the Dark Lord demands, "the boy who lives at Hogwarts, how often do you see Dumbledore?"

Severus stares the Dark Lord directly in the eyes, knowing that it's expected - knowing it's the only way to prove his word.  "Rarely.  He has no use for a no-name Slytherin," he spits.

The Dark Lord pauses, and Severus can feel the older wizard's smooth entry into his memories.  This time there's no chill.  His touch is gentle and probing, softly seeking proof - and then it falls away, like the tide rushing back from the beach.

"None at all?"  The Dark Lord peers at him.  He gives a nasty smile.  "Bare your mind to me," he demands, "I wish to see more!  I wish to see every time you passed in the Great Hall!  I wish to see your visits to his study, and his visits to your dungeons, and every single word that has been uttered between you!"

And then he raises his wand, and Severus braces himself as the Dark Lord starts to tear through his mind.

* * *

He's left on all fours, his forehead pressed against the floor, and panting heavily - and he can hear the Dark Lord pacing backwards and forwards, his wand tapping against his hand.  He's saying something, but Severus feels so sick, he can't concentrate on the words - it's like hearing music coming from behind a closed door, thudding and pounding, the bass clear but the high notes deadened.

 _Pull yourself together_ , he thinks, as he tries to sit upright.   _You chose to come here_.   _What did you think was going to happen when Ave summoned the Dark Lord?_

"Welcome back," the Dark Lord murmurs, noticing his movement.  

"Thank you, my Lord," and he's not sure if it's the right thing to say - whether he's showing the right amount of deference or if he's verging on obsequiousness.

"He doesn't realise, does he?"  The Dark Lord gives Severus a thin smile, and trails a long cold finger down the side of Severus' face.

"My Lord?"

"He doesn't know that you're here," he says, quietly.  "He doesn't realise.  He can't."

"I don't understand, my Lord."  

A flash of annoyance crosses the Dark Lord's features.  "Dumbledore!" he shouts.  "Dumbledore doesn't know where your heart lies!  Dumbledore doesn't know that you attend these meetings, your face masked, your hood high, your robes dark!"

_Doesn't he know?_

Severus frowns, struggling to comprehend what's being said.  It's true - he lives at Hogwarts, alone, working with Slughorn, and something about Malf, but it's blurry and unclear, and he can't think why Dumbledore would've welcomed him back to the castle - and that's just it, that's the bit where he keeps stumbling; Dumbledore _hasn't_ welcomed him back to the castle.  In all of the memories the Dark Lord has poured over, Dumbledore's barely given him a second glance - it's all Sluggy, and Avery, and meeting with Strikers, and violence, and that slashing spell being cast in unison and spilling crimson on Muggle pavements.  

"I wonder how disappointed he would be to discover all of this," the Dark Lord murmurs, tapping his wand against the palm of his hand.  He pauses, his wand twirling in the air, and Severus watches it, entranced, fear building in his heart.

_Have I been hurt?  Has someone hit me?  Is that why none of this makes sense?  What am I doing, daring to live in Dumbledore's castle whilst being a Striker, and spying for the Dark Lord, and fighting Muggles in the streets?_

He inhales through his nose, trying to keep calm.

_Does it matter?  You are what you are.  Is this what I am?_

Then the Dark Lord's voice hisses again, "I wish to see every moment, every single word that you overheard."

And this time he watches the raised wand in abject horror as he recalls that the words on the parchment, the words he'd so easily spilled to Avery, were from his own imagination.  He fleetingly remembers sitting in the toilets, the monologue on his tongue, and he wonders whatever possessed him to suggest that he'd successfully spied on Dumbledore - wonders what sort of stupid fool he's become to try and trick the Dark Lord, to try and ingratiate himself deeper into this powerful group, and then the spell strikes, and instead of showing the Dark Lord the truth, he finds himself rapidly illustrating his story, conjuring up images of wizards he's met in passing, arguing and bickering.

The Dark Lord isn't happy, he can sense that much - the faked memories aren't clear or coherent, and then he feels a sharp pain in his chest and he tries to pull away, his left hand hitting the floor behind him.  There's a burning sensation - like a hot knife being dragged through his skin, and then he hears the Dark Lord hissing in his ear, telling him that the pain will help him to focus, warning him that if he doesn't offer up the memories, the Dark Lord will rip into his mind and take them, and Severus' heart skips again.  

He doesn't want that - he hasn't got the memories for the Dark Lord to find, so he starts inventing and creating, and he doesn't have time to stop and mull on the scenes as they flash before his eyes - Dumbledore's robes are purple, and Crouch's are grey, Scrimgeour is loud, and Fudge is mealy-mouthed.  There's accusations and slander, and there's a thick layer of dust on the bookcase that Crouch leans against, and Crouch winces when he realises, angrily swiping at the dust that's clinging to his expensive robes.  The images come thick and fast as he recalls the words, and he's silently amazed at his own inventiveness.  He leads the Dark Lord a merry dance, dragging him through a conversation where it's clear that Crouch's son will be damned by the laws of the land - and he can feel the Dark Lord's rage building, and he's not sure if his anger is aimed at the inevitable fate one of his loyal servants is destined to meet, or if he's realised that Severus is spinning him a false tale.

_If you're going to die, Sev, you might as well go down swinging._

But he doesn't die.  The anger isn't aimed at him.  The Dark Lord retreats, his teeth bared, and his wand aloft.  

"He doesn't know?" he shouts, once more.

_Does he mean Dumbledore?_

"No, my Lord," he says, finally, unable to say anything else.

"And if Dumbledore doesn't know, he can't feed his apprentice with nonsense stories to recite in my presence."

"I am not his apprentice, my Lord."

At this, the Dark Lord gives a thin smile.  "Nor are you mine."  He points his wand at the back of the room.  "Mulciber, he is mine."  He points his wand at the still kneeling figure of Avery.  "Avery, he is also mine."  And then, he points his wand squarely between Severus' eyes.  "But you, Severus Snape, to whom do you belong?"  


	67. I'm not yours

He's reeling, blood soaking through the material of his shirt, and he's wandering the streets of Cokeworth.  He doesn't know what's led him back here - led him back to the hated house that his parents share, but as he stands in the backyard and stares at the cold bricks shrouded in darkness, he can't bring himself to knock.

He stalks down the alley, dodging overflowing bins and wrinkling his nose at the stench.  He leaves the cobbled streets and crosses over the river, and as he approaches the park, a furrow grows between his eyes as he spies the swings.  He quickens his pace, something nagging in the back of his mind, and as he leaps onto one, it's as if a wind has swirled in his mind, and suddenly there's a box - and the box is leaping and dancing, as if it wants him to pull it open, and he's breathing heavily, and he grabs onto the chains of the swing and pushes himself into the air, and in his mind he unlocks the padlock, and yanks at the lid, and then as he soars high into the sky, his eyes widen and he yells in relief as he remembers why he's in Cokeworth.

* * *

He doesn't care that he's been told not to scale the drainpipe.  It's three in the morning, and the house is dark, and he can't knock at the door.  He taps at the window - gently at first, and then desperately, his fingertips beating a rhythm on the glass.  His left bicep burns with the effort of clinging on to the pipe, his right hand tapping, and then - just as he's starting to lose hope - the light snaps on, and the curtain swishes back.  

There, framed by the window, is the dishevelled and sleepy face of Lily - who looks at his bloodied form in abject horror.

* * *

"I'm fine," he says, hoisting himself in through the window.

"Sev, you're bleeding!"  She grabs a box of tissues from the bedside table, and pulls him over to the bed.  She tugs at his clothing, revealing the cuts to his chest, and she picks up her wand, vanishing as much of the blood as she can, before pressing the tissues against his wounds.

"Sorry," he mumbles, resting his forehead against her shoulder.  "I'm sorry."

She kisses the side of his face as she tends to his wounds.  "Don't be sorry, Sev.  You've got nothing to be sorry for.  You're safe here with me."

* * *

He takes off his trousers, and sits on the edge of the mattress in just his socks and pants and his open bloodied shirt, his head in his hands.  "I shouldn't have come here.  I'm meant to be treated by Pomfrey."

"...what do you mean, Sev?  You're meant to be treated by Pomfrey?"  

He stalls, and he looks frightened, and then he gasps for breath.  "I don't know!"

"...you do," she presses.  "You said that quite lucidly."  She sits next to him, and takes his hand in her own.  "Something in your head knows that Pomfrey looks after you.  Why would she?"

"...I don't know, nothing makes any sense."

"Think, Sev."

His movement is slight, but she doesn't miss it - he rocks backwards and forwards whilst he's speaking.  "I live at Hogwarts, don't I?"

"Yes."

"Then, I don't know, it's part of the arrangement.  Like when we were kids."  He moves more wildly, his face a mask of anguish.  "But if I live at Hogwarts, why am I spying on Dumbledore for the Dark Lord?"

"...because Dumbledore asked you."

He recoils as if he's been slapped - and he drops her hand, and he moves away from her on the bed, his eyes wide.  "...but he can't have."

"He did."

"I do things, Lil!  I hurt people!  Me, and Ave, and we do it for him!  In his name!"

"Because Dumbledore wants you," she repeats, calmly.  

"It's not Dumbledore!  Dumbledore never speaks to me, he-"

"I Obliviated you," she says, her voice even, and then she stands and takes the book from her bookcase, and passes it over to him - the book from the Malfoy library.

He silently opens it, his face stricken at the sight of the title, and he removes an envelope - sealed, with the wax seal that he occasionally uses; the Prince family seal from his mother's trunk that he pocketed when she showed him her school belongings before he started at Hogwarts.

"It's from you," she says.

He can't argue - it's his family's seal, it's his writing, and it sounds like him when he reads the words, but it doesn't make sense.  It all seems fantastical - like a film that his father would watch on the television.  

"You did this to me?" he breathes, reading the words over and over.  "You took my memories?"

"You begged me."

"I don't remember."

"...that's rather the point."

He laughs - a horrible, sharp, wheezing laugh, and then he looks at her, lost for words.  "I remembered you."

"I know."

"But I didn't," he says, his voice faltering.  "At first.  And not in there.  When he was…"  He gasps again, rubbing his hand across his forehead.  "I thought I'd become…  What had I become, Lil?  Some fucking psychopath - Avery's bloodthirsty sidekick!"

"You're an apprentice," she says, softly, sitting next to him.  "A very talented brewer of potions.  You're a son.  You're Lucius Malfoy's best friend-"

"Not Avery's?"

"No.  And you're my fiancé," and then she grabs his hand, and places it on her stomach, "and _my_ baby's Daddy.  That's who you've become, Severus."

He nods.  "Yes."

"It's in the box in your mind."

"Yes."  He looks troubled.  "It's as if everything's disjointed."  He scans the letter again, and then he flicks through the book.  "Which method?"

"The first one," she says, guiding him to the right section.

He scans it quickly, and he smiles.  "Clever.  You didn't take the memories, but you cut the ties."

"It makes them inaccessible," she says.  "You know how one memory jogs another?  Well, this breaks those chains."

"And the box?"

"The box is Occlumency," she says.  "You use it a lot, but we-" and then she takes the book from him, and flicks again, and then he reads the paragraph she points out.  "We threw a cloak over it."

"Fucking hell," he breathes, tracing his finger over the words.  "That's exactly what it was like!  It was there, and then it wasn't."

She nods.  "But then it came back?"

"When I was on the swings.  At the park."  He gives her a tight smile.  "Our swings."

"Yes."

He closes his eyes.  "What if I hadn't come to Cokeworth?"  He swallows hard.  "I could've gone anywhere - with Avery, or-"

"-you didn't," she says, kissing him softly.  "And that's what matters."

He nods, and then he scours the book again.  She lets him read in silence, until he holds the book aloft, tapping a page.  

"Do this," he says, presenting it to her.

"But if it doesn't work-"

"If it doesn't work, it makes no difference!  I haven't got the memories now, so if they're lost completely, how does that make me worse off?"  

She looks pained.  "Sev, I'm not an expert at this, we could find someone who specialises-"

"But it was your spell!  Of course you can do it!"

"And if I can't?"

"Lil, I want my mind back," he says, his voice cracking.  "I _need_ it!  I can't live with these holes in my head, and things in hidden boxes, and memories that don't make sense!"  He brandishes the book again.  "Look, you chose the easiest one!  You didn't wipe my memories, you just cut a few strings.  All you need to do is tie those threads back together."

She gives him a pained look, and she turns the letter back over.  "Read it again for me, Sev.  Please."

"I've read it!"

"Read it once more," she implores.  "Read why you asked me to do this to you.  You were terrified that the Dark Lord would find that you were working with Dumbledore.  Think about the consequences before we try reversing it."

"I want my memories."  

"And if I tie those threads back together, what then?  We can't keep shredding them each time you go back to him - read the book!  They're not meant to be broken repeatedly!"

"Do it, Lil," he says.  When she doesn't move, he silently slides his wand into his hand, and then tips it so he's pointing it at his head.

"Sev, what are you doing?"

"Do it," he says, calmly, "or I'll do it myself."

* * *

"Come on."

"Lil, I'm not tired."

"We're not sleeping," she says, firmly, "just talking.  But I'm cold, and you…"

He bristles.  "I what?"

"Get in," she says, knowing that telling him that after such an ordeal he's in need of comfort - in need of being held, and hugged, and reminded that he's loved and cherished and safe - won't end well.  "Bean's freezing."

He pauses, as if debating whether to argue, but then he throws the covers back and gets into her bed.

She wants to pass comment on him keeping his bloodied shirt and dirty socks on, but she's so relieved that he's agreed to rest with her, she keeps her counsel, and merely smiles when he holds the duvet aloft for her to get in next to him.  It's a tighter fit than ever, with Bean growing quickly, and Severus moves as close to the edge of the bed as he can, and then nestles himself against her warm body.  

"Liar," he says.

"What?"

"You're not cold," he murmurs, his breath hot against her neck.

"Bean is," she says, and reaches for his hand, and places it on her bump.  "Daddy's here, Bean."  It's the right thing to say - she feels Severus' lips twisting into a smile against the top of her shoulder, and that same smile growing even broader when Bean's magic pulses.  

They lie together for a long moment, and she twists her legs through his, enjoying the feel of her partner next to her - and when she feels Severus finally relax, she turns in his arms until she's facing him.

"How are you feeling?"

"Drunk," he says.  "Like all my memories have been cut to pieces and thrown in the air, and I don't know how to fit them back together.  My life is like a smashed jigsaw."

"You need to give your brain chance to heal," she says.  "That spell, think of it as being like using Skele-Gro for your mind. You'd give a broken bone chance to grow, wouldn't you, if you fell off a broom?"

"Yes." 

"Then give those precious strings chance to knit back together. Stop thinking and rest." Then she trails her finger across the cuts on his chest.  "And this damage isn't like last time.  It's mostly superficial. You should be fine in a few days."

"He was only mildly upset this time," he says, softly.  "I escaped lightly."

"...Sev, you never told me…"

"What?" 

"What made you think he'd find your memories of Dumbledore?  Why did you want to hide those?"

"...Dumbledore gave me some information.  The idea was to elevate me, or Avery, or both of us in the Dark Lord's standing.  To make us more useful.  To accelerate the war effort."

"But it didn't work?"

He gives a dark laugh.  "Oh, it worked!  It worked a treat, Lil."

"But..?"

"I was right to ask you," he says, thoughtfully.  "The Dark Lord wanted to see for himself.  He scoured my memories for a trace of Dumbledore, to see if we were playing a game, and thanks to you, there wasn't anything!  Well, not anything useful."  He gives her a tight smile.  "I was terrified when I asked you, I remember that much."

"You didn't look it," she says, gripping his hand.  "You were fierce.  Adamant."

"I knew you wouldn't agree if you thought I was uncertain."  

She doesn't want to think about the consequences if she hadn't acquiesced - or if she hadn't succeeded.  "You can't do it again," she warns.  "If you break those threads again-"

"I think he's satisfied," Severus mumbles.  "I don't think he'll go looking for proof like that now he's already seen what he thinks is the truth."

"You could try a different way?  Maybe using the box?"

"I put you in the box," he says, holding her more tightly to him, "I didn't want him poking around in there."  He gives a quick smile.  "I reckon I can master that cloaking spell.  Then maybe I could have more boxes."

"But?"

"Who said there was a but?" he laughs, softly.

"I can tell.  There's something else, isn't there?"

"...I don't know if I'll need them."

"What do you mean, Sev?  Do you mean you're not going back?"

He shakes his head.  "No, but he didn't just look for my memories with Dumbledore," he says.  "He checked to see if my information...he checked to see if it was a set up."

She tenses.  "But it _was_ a set up."

"I think it's mostly true," he says, "if I had listened in to the meeting.  But I didn't dare risk it, which means I didn't have the memory when he looked."

"...but if you didn't have the memory-"

"I panicked, and I faked it.  I faked a story!  He looked me in the eyes, Lil, and..."  He closes his eyes in anguish.  "It's like his heart was telling him that something was wrong - something was missing, but this is the Dark Lord!  He knows how powerful he is, and me?  I'm just some useless runt, Lil-"

"Sev, you're not-"

"-he's the DARK LORD!"

"Shhhhhhhh!"  Lily looks up at the door, fearful that her parents will awaken.

"...sorry."  He swallows hard.  "But you don't understand!  I lied.  I lied to the Dark Lord!"

"But that's good, Sev?  That he doesn't know?"

"He knew something was amiss," Severus says, pointing at his injuries.  "So he tried to force it out of me - he tried to hurt me whilst he cast the spell, to cause me to lose my concentration."  He shakes his head.  "And I didn't.  The more he hurt me, the more the fake memory solidified.  It's as if I was feeding off his suspicion."

Lily looks at him, confusion crossing her face.  "That makes you stronger than him."

"...I doubt that," he says, grimly, "but it makes me into a weapon.  For Dumbledore."

"Don't tell him," she says, quickly.  "Don't tell him what happened."

And then Severus gives an anguished sob, his thin face creasing in sudden pain.

"Sev, Sev," she says, alarmed.  She wraps her arms around him, holding his shaking body close to her.  "Severus, we can get out of this.  Whatever's going on, we can escape this."

"I can't," he sobs, hot tears running down his face and landing against her nightdress, "not anymore."

"We can, and we will," she says, holding him tightly, and her voice firm. "Look at all we've achieved so far.  Together, we're stronger than anyone thinks possible."

He shakes his head.  "It's not enough."

"It is.  You're _mine_ , Severus Snape."

"No," he gasps, as if the words are being wrenched from deep within him.  "No, Lil, I'm not."  

To her horror, he twists away from her, and just as she's about to demand an answer to his strange reaction, he wrenches his bloodied shirt from his body, revealing his defiled forearm.  He brandishes it before her, and she almost recoils at the sight - his pale skin damaged beyond repair.  

"Do you see now?  I'm not yours, Lil.  I'm _his_."


	68. Manifesto

She's seen him crying before.  Not often, but she has.  

 _Boys dunner cry, Lil_.  

She could still hear his protest in her mind, although it was increasingly difficult to recall the precise cadence of the higher-pitched and heavily accented voice he'd once had - back in the days when they were both small, and he was even smaller and slighter than she.

They'd been running, and he'd tripped, falling heavily on the path and grazing his knees.  She'd helped him up, gasping at the sight of blood, but he'd remained stoic. He'd silently raised the heel of his palm to his lips, and sucked hard at the grit embedded in the broken skin.  His efforts were fruitless, and didn't cause the dirt to dislodge - although she was sure he'd probably contracted six different diseases by trying - so she'd taken him to her house, him grumbling all the way.

He'd kept his composure even then - even when he was stood in the pristine kitchen, his small face screwed up in pain, and her mother dousing the angry wounds with Dettol.  Lily had been on the receiving end of that treatment before.  She'd cried more times than she could count when her mother had pressed the brown liquid to a cotton wool ball and then held it against her damaged skin, swiping the dust and dirt and gravel away.  Petunia had given the same reaction - her wails could be heard on the other side of the house, sometimes even before her mother had made contact, the knowledge that it would smart causing her to weep long before the sting could register.

But Severus didn't cry.  Severus had winced, and he'd protested that it was unnecessary, and he'd sucked air in through the fresh gap in his teeth - he was still waiting for the tooth fairy to reward him under his pillow as she had done for Lily a few weeks earlier - but he didn't cry.  

Even when they were small, despite not seeing him crying, despite his protestations that boys weren't allowed to, she knew he did.  She could remember how he'd stepped out of the kitchen that day, when her parents had quizzed him about his homelife, his face tear-stained and pale - and although he's never confessed as much to Lily, since she's learnt more about his childhood, she's absolutely certain he must've cried during those punishments from his father - or, at the very least, afterwards.  

He _must've_.  She's seen the scars.

He's been crying more of late.  More since they left Hogwarts.  More since they've been navigating the world together, alone, and although it's still not often, his emotions overwhelm him at moments which catch her off-guard.  It seems to happen when she thinks he's going to be angry - when she expects him to shout, or to throw something across the room in frustration, and then he doesn't.  Instead, water fills at the edge of his eye, and he swipes at it angrily, as if it's a sign of weakness.  He's rarely crying about himself; it's always about her, it's about them, it's when she's threatened, or they're in strife - and although she hates witnessing such a display, there's a small part of her that is quietly reassured when she sees him tearful.

 _If he's upset enough to cry, he really and truly cares.  He cares more than he'll ever admit with words_.

At first, she wondered if she should be scared at his sudden demonstration of vulnerability, or whether she should be proud of the change.  She wonders if his tears are a sign of their world growing darker much more quickly than he ever anticipated, or whether his tears are a sign that her love for him has broken down the barriers he'd erected around his heart at a young age - proof that a loving environment can make a difference.

But tonight, as she holds his shaking body in her arms, his hot tears splashing against her skin, she feels neither scared nor proud.  It's as if there's a ringing in her ears, and pins and needles in her limbs, and she hugs him tightly, her arms wrapped around his shuddering shoulders, and she wants to feel those emotions and more - she wants to feel anger and fear and resentment, she wants to shriek and sob and fight, and she wants to be led by her gut; she wants to wreak revenge on everyone who has brought them to this point - because in her eye, she can still see _him_.  

She can still see that grimace on his youthful face when he picked himself off the path after falling and scuffing his knees, and she can see him as a teenager anxiously peeling his shirt up and edging his trousers down and revealing to her the livid purple marks on his rear, and she can remember his quivering hands when he'd told her how he'd been practically evicted from Slytherin, excommunicated from his housemates because he and Lily had announced that they were a couple - and she remembers how, even in those stark moments, he hadn't cried.  He hadn't ever cried.  

Severus _didn't_ cry.

But now, that same boy she remembers - the boy who would jut his jaw, and bite his lip, and toss his head at almost any misfortune that came his way - that boy has been broken, and as she holds the shattered pieces of him in her hands, she wants to feel something - anything - but she can't.  

She's completely numb.

* * *

She falls asleep eventually, but her slumber is fitful and her dreams filled with nonsense.  Her hands grip the sheets, and the duvet, and him - and then suddenly, when she reaches for him, he's not there.  The sudden lack causes her to stir, and she blinks as she wakens, her thoughts muddled.  

_Where is he?  Was he even here?  Was that a nightmare?_

A moment later, the memories hit her and it's with such force, it's like a bludger striking an unsuspecting Niffler.  She remembers the tap on the window and the blood on his shirt and the carving in his arm, and she sits upright - but the room is quiet and his boots have gone, and the net curtain is fluttering, a gentle breeze blowing through the window left ajar.

* * *

He hasn't slept.  Not really.  It's no surprise; he can't imagine he'll ever sleep again - not with the image of the Dark Lord poised above him, his gaze determined and his wand focused, intent on claiming Severus as his latest follower.  The horror of the moment has drained him, and he looks as if he's lost a week of sleep - not just a night.  His eyes are bloodshot, and his face is unshaven, and his shirt is covered in dried blood.  

 _Stained.  Ruined_.  

The neck of his previously white shirt is open, and the sleeves are buttoned, but he can spy the livid, lurid scarring through the gap in the left cuff, and it makes him retch.  

 _Stained.  Ruined_.  

He splutters his way through a coughing fit, and then rams his fists into his pockets so he can't glance at his forearm through the gap near the cuff.  He stalks in the direction of the town centre, not caring about his appearance, not caring who sees him.  It's a long walk from Lily's side of town, and he ducks through back streets and identical estates, and the milkman gives him a curious look as Severus marches past, his greasy hair swinging.

"What are yer fuckin' lookin' at?" Severus shouts, his temper rising - and the milkman turns away, his attention back on the doorstep.  "Yeah, fuckin' thought so an' all!"

There's nobody else around at this hour - a couple of cats, and a dog, and some birds.  There's the rumble of an early morning train as he closes on the railway, and he can see the hotel looming in the distance.  He takes the shortest route, the most direct, scaling fences and climbing over walls - and then he turns onto the high street and enters the shop on the corner; the only building open.  

It used to be Alfie Laycock's newsagents when he was a boy, and then Laycock's wife ran it alone when Laycock died.  Judy, her name was - she'd always throw an extra sweet in a bag of mix if he remembered to say please and thank you.  Then it was Mr Singh, the old man who chased him down the road when he tried to slide a Curlywurly in his jacket - not for himself, but for Lily for her birthday - and then old man Singh left or died, and his brother ran it, or maybe his son.  

Severus can't really remember because he didn't dare go back in, not until they'd gone, not until they'd all moved to Yorkshire or Shropshire or wherever it was they went.  Then it was the Welsh chap, the one who never said much - and now?  Now he walks through the door, and the lad behind the counter looks up, and as Severus scans the back wall for the cheapest carton of cigarettes, the lad stands, clearly trying to make himself seem imposing.

"Not today."

"What?"

"Yer heard," says the lad, his hands braced on the newspaper covered counter.  "I don't want no trouble."

Severus glances down at his shirt, and then gives a soft laugh.  "No, don't worry, this int what it seems."

"No?"  The lad gives him an odd look, and then leans back, calling through the door which leads towards the back rooms.  "Da?  Da!"

"I just want some fags," Severus tries again, "no trouble.  I've got the money."  

He reaches for the wallet in his pocket, looking down as he fumbles with the fastener, and when he looks up, he sees an older man flanking the younger - older, and broader, and Severus' eyes widen.  He looks again at the lad, and he can see it now - it's been years, four or five, and whilst Severus has grown a little taller himself, the lad has changed considerably - from a small boy into a much bigger teenager.

"Din't know yer were back round 'ere."

"I'm not, Mr Davies."

The older man scoffs.  "Don't fuckin' Mr Davies me, yer little fuckin' savage."

"I'm goin'," Severus says, holding his hands aloft.  "I din't realise-"

"Lot you din't realise," the lad calls as Severus moves towards the door.

Severus stops then, that spark of temper rising in him again.  "I said I was sorry," and he pauses, desperately trying to remember the boy's name, can't remember if this is Paul or Daniel, the older of the two Davies sons or the younger - and he can't tell how old he is by sight alone.  "I din't mean anything by it."

Johnny Davies scoffs again, now deliberately moving the stacked newspapers, preparing to open the half door in the counter.  "Accident was it?"

"Summat like that."

"Yer hand slipped, did it?"  

"It was a mistake."  

 _And it was a mistake coming here_ , he thinks.   _Of all the fucking shops_.

"A mistake?  Yer dunner look like yer've learnt yer lesson if yer ask me."

_No-one was fucking asking you._

Severus shakes his head, fighting to keep his temper under control, his fingers grazing the bloodied marks on his shirt.  "This is…  It's not…  It's mine, all right?"  He tugs at his shirt, roughly pulling the buttons through their holes, revealing the wounds on his chest.  "It's my blood!"  

Johnny Davies doesn't seem reassured by this statement, his eyes have narrowed, and he's still fiddling with the lock, poised to swing the door open.  

Quickly, Severus fumbles with the buttons of his shirt, trying to fasten them back together.  "Yer don't have to come out, I've said I'm goin'."  

"Too fuckin' right yer are."  Johnny jerks his head towards his son.  "Broke 'is fuckin' heart, yer did.  Nine years old, an' yer stole 'is best friend."

"I'm sorry," Severus says again, stepping backwards out of the door and onto the street, and then he heads down the road, checking over his shoulder to make sure he's not being followed.

Johnny Davies looms in the doorway, half in, half out, watching him leave - and when Severus turns and glances back, the older man makes eye contact, a sneer on his face.  "Go on wi' yer!  Fuck off!"

 _Stained_ , Severus thinks.   _Ruined_.

* * *

He opens the warped back gate, the latch clicking softly as he shuts it behind him, and then he tries the handle of the back door, giving an irritated hiss when he realises it's locked.  He whips out his wand, casting a quick succession of spells at the lock.  An Alohomora won't do - he remembers that from when he lived there - but he can't get the lock to move.  He kneels, peering through the keyhole, and that's when he realises that the key is in the door.  

He laughs to himself, and heads to the bin by the gate, digging through it until he pulls out a soiled brown paper bag.  He presses it against his leg, straightening the creases.  He kneels once more at the door, and then he slides the paper through the gap at the bottom.  He sits up on his heels, and he grips his wand in his fist and jabs it through the keyhole, causing the key to tumble onto the paper.  He checks to see his wand is undamaged, and then secretes it down his trouser leg before pulling the paper towards him, and palming the key.

He opens the door as quietly as he can, and then places the key on the side.  He moves quickly through the house, finding the kitchen and living room empty - _they're still in bed_ \- and then he edges his way up the stairs, creeps across the landing, and slips into his old room, closing the door behind him.

There's not much left here - a few old schoolbooks and his knotted tie, a faded photo of Lily pinned directly into the wall, and a calendar from 1977 still hanging on its nail - but he knows from his last visit that there's some clothes in the drawers; some pyjama bottoms he inherited from Tobias, odd socks and old fraying pants, a pair of jeans, and a pair of shorts.  He rifles through, hoping for a jumper or a shirt, but he's not in luck - there's three short sleeved t-shirts, and in the end, he grabs one and slams the drawer shut.

 _Shit_.

He hastily tears off his bloodied shirt and screws it into a ball.  He picks up his pen pot that sits on the window sill, and tips it out, dried up biros and broken quills falling onto the bed, and then he casts Aguamenti.  He splashes the conjured water up himself, trying to rub away any remains of blood, and he carefully tips some across the fresh scarring on his arm.  

It throbs, dully, and Severus can still feel the heat of the spell as the dark wizard carved his insignia into Severus' flesh.  He pauses, sickened by the shape - sickened by the pattern that he's seen so often in the Prophet, even if he's never seen it in person.  It takes all of his effort not to run his finger along the raised skin - _you don't want to accidentally summon him_ \- and then he hears a movement.  It could be the house settling, creaking, or it could be a footstep.  He dries the pot using the edge of the bloodstained shirt, and then hastily stuffs the pens and quills back into the pot, setting it back on the ledge.

He pulls the door open, peering through to check that his path is clear, and then creeps back down the stairs, and through into the kitchen where, to his horror, he sees his mother standing by the stove, kettle in hand.  Her eyes meet his, and he instinctively moves the bloodied shirt behind his back, but she lunges for him, grabbing his wrist.

"Gerroff!"

"Show me," she says, twisting his arm up in the air - and although, at first, her eyes are fixed on the stained shirt, her attention is soon drawn to his freshly scarred skin.  She looks at him in horror.

"Mam, it's not what you think, I didn't-"

"You foolish, _foolish_ boy!"

* * *

Eileen thought she'd escaped this.  She remembers finding his manifesto - _manifesto!_ \- when he was thirteen, a tirade against Muggles and a proclamation of wizarding superiority.  She remembers only too well the heated words that passed between them as she spelled his wrists together and stuck him to his father's chair, and forced him to watch - his limbs thrashing helplessly against his bonds - as she levitated the parchment over the smouldering fire in the front room.  

She lectured him about his lack of understanding, his failure to comprehend history, and she steadily added wood and coal that they could ill-afford to the grate - all to create the spectacle, all to provide a lesson that she hoped would never be forgotten.  She watched his face as the flames grew taller, the pain in his expression growing as orange light licked at his carefully scribed words, until finally, his hard work charred and crumbled into the roaring heat below.

She didn't tell Tobias.  This was between mother and son, between witch and wizard.  She couldn't have a Muggle involved.  It annoyed her that she'd had to resort to magic in order to restrain her boy - and when his eyes widened in excitement when he first saw her wand, she briefly wondered if she was creating the environment which caused her son to pen such words - but once she'd started, she couldn't stop.  She knew Severus would fight back given the chance, so before he could draw his own wand - in the moment when he was looking at her in astonishment, with a hint of glee, as if she was about to leap into the magical world with him, forsaking their Muggle existence - she attacked.  

She had no choice.  Although Severus hadn't shot up to his father's height - _yet_ \- he'd grown since he was last home.   _It's the food at Hogwarts_.  He wasn't big, but there was a strength to him which belied his wiry appearance; he wasn't a child anymore.  Of course, Tobias wouldn't have needed magic to dole out a punishment; he was still far taller and broader and thicker and stronger, and whilst Eileen could only hope that her message had sunk in, she knew that a punishment from Tobias would've been on Severus' mind for days, imprinted in scarlet on his body.  

But Tobias couldn't dole out this punishment.  Tobias reacting angrily, violently, would simply reinforce Severus' beliefs; that Severus needed to grow more powerful, and then he could be the master of the house.   _What did the essay say?  Magical supremacy over Muggles._   So Eileen became judge, jury and executioner, and afterwards, she kept her counsel.  This was their secret, hers and Severus'.  After all, there was no point confiding in Tobias - he'd either erupt and make the situation worse, or in the unlikely event that he didn't react, she knew it would gnaw at him, knowing that their son was plotting against them - plotting against _him_.

Still, her silence wasn't enough to keep the afternoon's actions hidden.  He felt the heat, Tobias, when he swung the door to their tiny terrace open - and he threw a fit, shouting and bawling about the wasted fuel that they couldn't easily replace.  Tobias made a bad situation worse, as he always did in his moments of fury, tipping over the remnants of the coal bucket, the dark dust spilling onto the threadbare carpet, blackening their socked feet for more than a week.  

It took a similar amount of time for the dark shading around her eye to fade.

_"I'm sorry."_

_"For what?"_

_When no answer came, she sniffed and carried on clearing the kitchen, opening and shutting the cupboards loudly, banging the doors as she put away chipped cups and mismatched plates._

_"For yer eye."_

_"You didn't hit me," she said, simply.  "Besides," - and then she looked him up and down, an unpleasant scowl on her face, "it was worth it."_

She thought it had been a phase.  She'd prayed every night to the God that Tobias believed in, hoping her son would have his head turned by the redheaded girl he worshipped - the one with Muggle blood.  He was secretive, Severus, even as a child, and he grew even more reclusive as a teenager, but he didn't have to confide in her for her to know.  Eileen knew when her prayers had been answered and it had happened - she could smell her.  There was something jarring about Lily's distinctive aroma of perfumed soap, and deodorant, and shampoo, all battling with the scents that were usually found in Spinner's End - damp and bacon fat and cigarette smoke.

Lily's aroma steadily grew stronger in Severus' bedroom, masking the smells to which Eileen was accustomed - of his muddy boots and wet jeans and dirty socks, and sweat and metal and blood and a tinge of vinegar - _he's been dissecting and pickling frogs again_ \- and occasionally, when he'd been studying hard, she'd pick up the smell of darkest ink - _his favourite_ \- and the scent of fresh parchment and musty books, and if she closed her eyes, she was almost transported thirty years, back to her own days in Scotland.

But Lily wasn't just confined to his room; she was suddenly _everywhere_ \- on his jacket and his scarf, and his jumpers and his shirts, and then it wasn't his clothes, it was him.  She was in his hair, and on his skin, and finally, as Eileen stripped the bed in anger - _I told him to do this a week last Wednesday!_ \- she noticed the same floral scent lingering on his pillow and in his sheets.

_"I'll speak to 'im," Tobias had offered._

_"You will not!"_

And nor did she.  She did what she could to smooth the process along.  She ushered Tobias to the pub with money they couldn't spare, and cast spells at Severus' bedroom door, layering silencing charms whenever she suspected the girl was in the house.  Severus was prickly and sensitive, so she was careful to continue referring to Lily as just a friend, not a girlfriend - and she took Tobias to task if he mentioned anything about girls, so much so, Tobias had eventually asked her outright if their son had said anything to her about being on the wrong bus or batting for the other team.  

Eileen had known about this burgeoning relationship for months, but it was only confirmed by the comment in his Hogwarts report - fleeting, in Slughorn's familiar cursive:  

_Severus has had a difficult year within Slytherin.  After experiencing the loss of several friendships, he has demonstrated that he is a resilient young man, and it is credit to his studious nature that his grades during this time have not unduly suffered.  I am pleased to report that Severus has developed a newfound maturity during this school year which I believe can be, in part, attributed to the positive relationship he has embarked upon with a delightful young lady from another house._

Delightful.  She wasn't sure about that, Eileen - but she showed Tobias all the same.  Toby pretended not to be interested, but she could tell from the arch of his eyebrow that he was relieved.   _A delightful young lady_.  Being delightful didn't matter to Tobias, but the source of Severus' affections being female clearly did.  

She didn't tell Severus.  Didn't tell him what what his report said, or what his father had feared, or what she'd suspected all along.  And then, one night in the middle of the summer holidays, she'd clumsily stumbled across them.  It was entirely innocent - the pair of them sitting on the wall outside, both staring at the stars, her head on his shoulder and his arm slung around her waist - and to Eileen's dismay, the back door loudly slammed shut before she could retreat unnoticed.  

Rumbled.

_"Severus.  Lily."_

_"Mam."_

_"Mrs Snape."_

_If she was ever going to stop pretending, this was the moment._

_"If you're walking her home, you'd best make a move, son."_

_Lily jerked her head up, looking disappointed that their evening was at a close, whilst Severus - ever obedient - instantly put his palms on the wall, ready to jump off._

_"Or if she'd rather stay, you can sit out here as long as you like.  Just remember to lock the back door on your way up."_

_The two teenagers had looked at each other, their eyes wide, and Eileen had smiled to herself as she slipped back into the house._

This moment isn't playing out the way she used to expect, all those years ago, in the days before Lily was a permanent fixture of his affection, when a defiant Muggle slur would always be on his lips.  She'd feared it then - feared that he'd become one of them, feared that he'd be seduced by the very words that had terrified her.  She'd held countless imaginary conversations with him whilst washing up, or brushing down the yard, trying to think how she'd reason with him, how she'd convince her little boy to return to her from the brink of darkness.

Eileen hadn't been having the conversations recently.  She hadn't needed to.  Not since Lily had burst into their life, a shower of colour in their monochrome world.  She wasn't quite Eileen's type, Lily, but then, she had something better - something more appealing than a personality that she, Eileen, could connect with - Lily Evans had Muggle blood.  

So, until Severus broke their news, until he'd told them about the baby, and until he'd told them about Dumbledore and the war, she hadn't given any of it a second thought - _he's safe if he's in love with a Muggleborn_ \- and to her horror, by the time she realised, she knew it was all too late.  

And now her only child was stood before her, that ugly insignia of hate permanently etched into his delicate skin.

* * *

She makes him tea, and when he murmurs about Johnny Davies and the corner shop, her eyes briefly close.  

"I didn't know they had it now."

"I should've told you."  She sips from her cup.  "I'll go and see him."

"Don't, Mam," he says, softly, "it'll only make it worse."

"I'll send your dad."

Severus rolls his eyes.  "He will make it worse."

"He smoothed it over once," she says.

"...I was wearing that."  He points at the stained shirt.

She places her cup on the worktop, and rubs a weathered finger between her eyes, trying to soothe the crease.  "Do I want to know?"

"Probably not."

"They suspended that sentence."

"I didn't…"  He roughly tugs his t-shirt, revealing the fresh wounds on his chest.  "The blood, it's mine."

She looks surprised.  "Not as quick with your wand as you think you are?"  

He drops his t-shirt, but doesn't answer.

She shakes her head, and reaches for her packet of cigarettes.  She takes one, then another, secreting it behind her ear, and then she throws the half-empty packet towards him.  "Take them," she says, "if that's what you went the shop for."

"Thanks."

Her fingers are shaking as she flicks the lighter, and it takes several tries - one, three, five, eight - for the flame to catch.  She sucks hard on the rolled tobacco, pursing her lips, and then exhaling, scrutinising him.

"What?"

"He'll call it in.  Johnny Davies."

"I figured."

"Then what are you still doing here?"

"Right."  He stands, sliding the packet into his back pocket, and reaching for his wallet.  He drops a clatter of coins on the worktop, and then he kisses her on the cheek.  "For the fags."

"Does she know?"

"Lily?  About…?"

She points at his arm with the burning cigarette before raising it to her lips again.

"Yeah," he says.  He waits, but when she doesn't speak, he turns to leave.

"If you're going back," she says, as his hand touches the door, "go and see her first."

"I've seen her."

There's another pause.  "I'll get your dad to go down," she says, "but you know how Johnny is…"  She looks Severus dead in the eye, tapping the ashen end into the sink.  "Make sure you see her."

* * *

She doesn't need to tell him why.  She doesn't need to spell out for him the consequences of Johnny Davies calling the police and informing them that he's been seen wandering the streets covered in blood, even if it was his own.  He treks back across the park, and a slim smile crosses his face - it'd be one way to evade Dumbledore and the Dark Lord; a stretch in Strangeways - but almost as soon as the thought occurs to him, his smile falls.  

_You're only weeks off meeting Bean.  You don't want Bean's first memories of Dad to be across a formica table, or in a room of strangers, or whatever the process is._

He thinks about taking her with him - taking her back to Hogwarts, somehow smuggling her in - but then he thinks about her pregnancy and whether she'd go into labour whilst they were hiding there, and he wonders whether he could tell Pomfrey, whether she could deliver Bean.  He's hopeful, his feet quickening as he walks towards Lily's street, but then he realises that such actions will mean placing Bean in Dumbledore's lap, and he's not prepared to do that either.

_Malf?  I could take her there.  She could be with Cissy.  Two mothers and babies together._

It's an option - but he realises that it means confiding in them, and it's not that he doesn't trust Lucius; he trusts him with his life - but Lucius is in the same situation that he's in, tethered to the Dark Lord, and he doesn't want Bean threatened in the same way that Lucius' son was.

 _It's a step too close_.   _The Dark Lord can never know_.  

He doesn't have a solution when he walks briskly up the path, but his mind feels clearer than it did when he last approached this house in the dead of night - and although he knows he looks a state, and Rose and David's alarmed expressions confirm it, when he sees the relieved look on Lily's face, he's glad he's returned.

* * *

He tells her everything - tells her what happened at the shop, and with his mother, and his fears about having to hide from the Muggle world, and the ways he's thought of to get around it.  She looks as emotionally drained as he feels when he finishes, and he holds her face in his hands, his forehead resting against hers.  

"I don't want you to worry about this," he says, between kisses.  "Mam'll send Da down, see if he can make Johnny see sense, and she'll get word to me if the filth come knocking."

"You can't go back to court," she says, and she masks her distress with a laugh.  "I hate that suit Lucius got for you."

He laughs then too, but it's hollow, just like hers. He pulls her close to him.  "Are you ok?"

"Yes," she says, honestly.  "I am now that you're here.  I was so worried."

"Sorry."

"You seem...better."  

He gives a soft laugh.  "I left here and made things ten times worse, and yet..."  He shakes his head.  "I was a bit messed up this morning.  I'm sorry."

"Don't be.  You've got nothing to be sorry for."

"No?"  He scoffs.  "I've got everything to be sorry for.  I've fucked everything up.  Again and again, it's like I never ever fucking learn."

She holds him tightly, and then leans up to kiss him again, as if she knows their affection is about to be rationed.  "It was fucked up already, Sev," she murmurs.  "This morning was just bad luck."

"Fucking Avery," he says, exasperated.  "It was Ave on that march, and Ave who fucked off and left me to be arrested, and it was Ave who said they'd never find me if I skipped bail and stayed at Hogwarts, but they fucking did, Lil!"  He groans.  "If I'd made that court date, if I'd been sentenced at the time, I might've been tried as a youth."

"They took your age into account," she says, a little coolly, "that's why they suspended the sentence, _and_ they ran your failure to surrender concurrently.  You were incredibly lucky given the circumstances.  They normally run those charges consecutively, and then the judge wouldn't have been able to suspend it."

"...I know," he says, finally.  It's already a sore point between them, and has been the cause of many arguments, so he doesn't want her to think he's playing down his own culpability.  

 _It's not Avery,_ he thinks.   _This was all you, Severus.  You went to the march.  You stabbed the Muggle.  You got caught and you got yourself arrested.  You ran off to Hogwarts, hoping they'd never find you.  And it was you who went wandering through the streets in a blood covered shirt this morning, right into the workplace of the man whose dog you slaughtered.  None of this was Avery.  This was all you._

"...but if I'd come back sooner," he continues, "it'd all be over now.  It wouldn't still be hanging over me, and the police wouldn't be interested in whatever Johnny Davies has to say.  I was such an idiot."

"They might not be interested."

He looks annoyed.  "Fuck's sake, Lil, I'm on probation for stabbing someone, and I've been wandering around Cokeworth covered in knife wounds and blood.  I think, I _think_ they might just be fucking interested!"

"It's done," she says, simply. "Stop fretting over things you can't change.  It's what we do next that matters."  She kisses him again and again, insistently - as if trying to prove a point - and then delves her tongue between his lips.  

He's slow to react, trying to work out if she's telling him to stop fretting over Johnny, or the probation, or the horrible mark on his arm - but he can't fathom it, not with his brain swirling.  She kisses him harder, as if she's irritated by his lack of response, and he raises his right hand to the back of her head, the fingers of his left hand entwining with hers, finally deepening the kiss.  "You still want me?"

"Yes."  And then she shoots him a mischievous grin.  "I've put up with you for this long, haven't I?"

Even with her teasing, he seems gratified - but as they kiss, he holds her more tightly, as if he's afraid she's going to change her mind.  Eventually, he pulls away. "...I can't stay, love," he says, reluctantly, breathlessly.

"Ask Lucius to get us somewhere - a hotel, anywhere that's not here," she says, drawing him back to her, her kiss even more heated.  "Tell him it's my birthday, or that I'm begging you for a holiday, or tell him that Dumbledore's causing trouble so you need somewhere for us to go in private.  Get him to put it in a fake name - not yours!"  And before he can protest, she kisses him again.  "Only seeing you at weekends-"

"-I count down every hour, every minute-"

"-and now, if it's not safe for you to come back... It's unbearable, Sev.  Ask him-"

"-I will-"

"-get him to do something.  Promise me."

"I promise."

"Good," she says, "because I can't do this anymore."

It's because he's overtired, and his brain's started to play tricks on him, but his heart skips at her words.   _She doesn't want to put up with your shit anymore, Severus.  She wants someone who can be here all the time.  Someone who hasn't got this baggage._   "You can't do what anymore?"

"I can't keep living without you."

He gives her a weak smile, relief flooding his body.  "No?  Got a thing for complete and utter idiots, have you?"

"Oh yes," she laughs, "only prime dunderheads get to warm my bed."

He leans back towards her, kissing her firmly, and then to her surprise, he pulls his t-shirt over his head and tosses it across the room, before resuming their heated kiss.

"I thought you had to go," she murmurs.

"And I thought you realised that I'm an idiot who makes terrible decisions," he says, with a sinful grin.  "Now get out of those clothes, because if I'm going to be arrested for being here, you'd better make it worth my while…"  


	69. A dark wizard in need

Despite his fearless words, he doesn't stay long - she can sense the moment when his lust fades, and common sense returns.  He whispers words of love in her ear, and dresses quickly - and after pressing a kiss to her bump, he departs.  

There's a soft knock on her bedroom door a short while later, and an invitation downstairs, to sit and talk over lunch.  Her parents say it's to talk, but they don't - they nudge, and they prod, and eventually, they ask - but they don't talk.   _She_ talks.  She talks, and they listen.  Her mother nods, and offers her hand, and one tissue after another, whilst her father looks solemn.  

It should be shocking, but after all of the revelations in recent weeks, her words don't cause the reaction that she'd expected.  Her parents already knew that Severus was deeply involved with something dangerous in the magical world, and although they knew Severus had been in some trouble within their own community, Lily had always been successfully evasive with the details.  Fortunately, Johnny Davies kept company with the likes of Toby Snape, not David Evans, so although there had been murmurings in the neighbourhood of some strange behaviour by the youngest of the Snapes, her parents hadn't given much credence to the rumours.  Such rumours which were only repeated within the four walls of the Evans house by Petunia - and her word was easily dismissed, given her behaviour towards both Lily and Severus.  

 _Jealous_.

David and Rose were all too fearful of pushing their daughter fully into another world, so they opened their arms and accepted Severus - dealt with him as they found him, and for his part, Severus always played the part of polite suitor.  They'd fretted at first, and although their initial worry had never fully disappeared, it had reduced over the years as they watched him grow into a young man who cared deeply for their daughter, and appeared to be studious and sensible, and who had aspirations far beyond the dilapidated terraces where his parents lived.

Lily could see in Rose's face that she couldn't quite accept Lily's words - couldn't believe that the Severus they'd welcomed into their house had stabbed someone in cold blood a few years earlier, or murdered an animal.  She couldn't believe that the boy who sat at her dining table and passed her the salt had done such things.  Her father was different - his jaw a little more square, his expression harder.  He could believe it.  She could tell.  

"And you?"

Her eyes briefly closed.  "Never."

"He's never raised a fist to you?  Or a weapon?  You've never been scared of him, or-"

"No!"  It comes out shriller than she'd intended, but she's had enough.  They'd fought, and he'd thrown things in frustration, but so had she - and she couldn't ever remember him hurting her deliberately.  "You've seen how he is with me."  Her hand reaches for her bump.  "And with our baby.  I love him.   _We_ love him."

Rose and David exchange a look, and then Rose stands, pulling Lily into a hug.  "Your father was only checking," she says, gently - and Lily's certain that they're exchanging silent words over her shoulder.

"This doesn't change anything.  He's still just Severus," Lily says firmly.

But somehow, in the eyes of her parents, she knows he isn't.

* * *

Severus doesn't visit at the weekend, but as she doesn't hear from Eileen either, she tries to dampen down her fears.   _Maybe Tobias talked Johnny out of calling the police_.  Then she gets a note - he's not coming the next weekend either, but there is an Order meeting scheduled, and he's arranged for Lucius to pick her up after.  Lily can't stop herself from re-reading his note, trying to work out if Lucius will be picking her up, or whether Severus is intending to masquerade as the older wizard once more - and if it's the former, where he'll take her, and if Severus will be there.

* * *

When she enters, her stomach is already in knots, not helped by Pettigrew openly staring at her whilst she scans the room for a seat.  There's more witches and wizards at this gathering than she's seen for a long time - and it's evident that this meeting is of great importance, all thoughts of a traitor or a leak long forgotten.  

 _Not forgotten_ , she thinks, _but Dumbledore wants everyone to hear these words.  Is that the only reason I've been included?_

Both the Prewett boys give her a strange glance when she takes a seat next to Lupin, but neither is unfriendly towards her.  Gideon passes her a cup of weak tea, and Fabian leans over to push the plate of biscuits in her direction, and when Lupin smiles as she passes the biscuits down the table, she wonders if she's imagining enemies who don't exist - especially when Pettigrew takes two from the plate, and nods his gratitude towards her.

The varied and gentle murmurings in the room suddenly halt as a furious argument breaks out in the corner, the loud noise stemming from a small group of mostly older witches and wizards - Dumbledore, Moody, Vance, Bones, Diggle, and Frankie Longbottom, who appears to be the main cause of the noise, as he turns away from the group.

"Absolutely not!"

"Frankie-"

"Don't Frankie me, Amelia," Longbottom hisses, pulling his arm away from her.  "No matter what Dumbledore thinks, this isn't a game."

"Nobody suggested it was," Moody says, gravely - and then he glances up from the small gathering, noticing the Prewett brothers making their way over.  "Sit down, Gideon."

"I want to know what you were talking about."

"Yes," adds Fabian, "what's Dumbledore proposing?"

"It doesn't matter," Frank says, firmly.  "We're not doing it.  I've got a kid on the way-"

Fabian scoffs.  "A lot of us have families.  That's _why_ we're fighting."

"Seconded," adds Gideon, with a quick grin.  "So?"  He flicks his wand, causing all of the empty chairs around the table to slide backwards.  "Are you going to tell us all, or have you gathered us together to watch you all bicker amongst yourselves?  Because Fabes and I can pop around our sister's if we want to watch a bunch of children arguing."

Pettigrew gives a sudden snort of laughter at this, and when Lily glances over, she can see all four of her old housemates holding back laughter - and then she looks back at the furious expression on Frank Longbottom's face, and the trepidation on Moody's, and she can't help but wonder if Severus sees the same thing in his own meetings - whether the Death Eaters have such a motley crew, all with different outlooks and hopes and fears, or whether they're all on the same page.

"Certainly," Albus says, smoothly, taking a seat at the head of the table and indicating that everyone else should also be seated.  When the group finally settle, he stands, so it's clear he's leading the group.  "I have gathered you all here tonight to propose that we invest some of our funds into the judicial system."

"You're going to fight He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named through the Ministry?" Lupin says, sceptically - and he's immediately bolstered by jeers aimed at Dumbledore's words.

"We need action, not words," adds Black.

"The Ministry," Bones starts - and before she can continue, the jeering gets louder.

"-is corrupt," shouts Pettigrew.  "They're after innocent creatures!"  He claps Lupin on the shoulder, and Lupin's eyes widen, shrugging his friend's hand off, and shooting him a warning glance, before he can spill his secret further.

Lily's heart is briefly in her mouth - and she looks over at Vance and Dumbledore, both of whom look solemn - and she can feel the collective sigh of relief when Pettigrew seems to think better of his statement, and sits back down.

"Sorry," he murmurs to Lupin, who nods, his eyes fixed firmly on the wall behind Black, not daring to look at the rest of the witches and wizards gathered.

"He's right though," Black says, breaking the sudden silence that's fallen around the room.  "You-Know-Who has only surged in popularity since the Ministry has tried to placate him.  His followers are _everywhere_ ," - and he punctuates this word heavily, casting a fierce look around the room, and meeting Lily's own eyes with a slight sneer.  "We need action."

"I am glad you agree, Mr Black," says Bones with a tight smile, "because our plan isn't just to fight You-Know-Who in the courtroom.  Our plan is to infiltrate his inner sanctum."

"Impossible," says Pettigrew - and this time it's Potter who jabs him in the ribs.

"Not impossible," Potter adds, quickly, "we wouldn't know that, would we, Peter?"  

Again, Pettigrew's eyes widen, and he looks a little abashed.  "I mean, no, I just mean - if it can be done, then one of the others would've succeeded by now."

"The boy is right," Moody says, briskly.  "Too many have been lost."

"Too many because their tale is not convincing," Vance says, darkly, and her eyes reach Lily.

 _I'm going to be sick_ , she thinks - because she knows what's coming next; she knows they're going to out Severus, and Potter and Black and Pettigrew and Lupin are all going to scream about how he's untrustworthy, and Moody is going to stare at her with that same unflinching glare, and Bones will sigh, and Vance will-

"Which is why," Vance continues, "we propose that we use this avenue to ingratiate ourselves within his regime."

"Ingratiate ourselves?" Hestia Jones frowns.  "Who exactly amongst us?"

"And how?" demands Gideon.  "What avenue are you talking about?"

"We are going to mount a defence for Bartemius Crouch Junior."

The gasps echo around the room at Dumbledore's words.

"No," Frank says again, standing.  "I won't be part of it."

"Nor me," says Black, also standing.  "I'm not going to be someone who defends a Death Eater."

"That's a pity," Vance drawls, sharing a glance with Bones, "because we were rather hoping that you would fund such an endeavour, providing you with a pathway into the inner circle."

The room is silent, but there's a ringing in Lily's ears - _Black!  They mean for Black to spy, not Severus!_

"No," Potter interrupts.  "Nobody would believe it."

"Nobody?"  Diggle presses.  "Not even though he carries the Black name?"

"Nobody who knows him!"  Potter shakes his head angrily.  "Nobody we know!  Nobody here!  Nobody who went to school with us, and you're forgetting - his family are dark!"

"I assure you that we are not forgetting," Vance says with a small laugh.  "His dark family are the reason why we selected him for this task."

"It could be his way of making amends," Bones offers.  "He wishes to take his seat at their table once more."

Lupin laughs derisively.  "They'd smell a rat.  They'd kill him on sight."

"They'd take the money first," Black mutters - but his eyes meet Lily's, and she can tell he's mulling it over; the chance to be a hero - a chance to be involved, to do something instead of sitting around and waiting.  

"You can't," Pettigrew says, urgently, "they'd expose you immediately.  They'd get you to do something - a test, and when you failed, they'd kill you."

"He's right," Gideon agrees, and he seems gratified when the rest of the table nod along, "just funding a defence for Barty Crouch isn't going to be enough to convince the Death Eaters that Sirius is one of them.  They'd make him do something that would break him."

"I'm not that easy to break," Black argues, hotly.  

Fabian stares levelly at Black.  "And could you?  Could you keep your cover when they demanded that you do something terrible?"

"No," Potter interrupts.  "He's not like that."

"No?  You couldn't do it for the cause?" Vance pushes.

"...I'm not sure," says Black, finally.

Vance eyes him curiously.  "I thought you were keen to see action?"

"If they deserved it," he argues, "then sure.  That's easy."  

At his words, Lily runs cold - she knows what he's thinking, Sirius.  She knows he's imagining holding Severus at the end of his wand, and exacting his revenge.  She looks down, barely listening as he continues. 

"...but I couldn't turn on one of us, and if little Reggie or cousin Bella was in the same room, it'd be over.  They'd know if I hesitated.   _She'd_ know."

"There's nobody else who can do this," Vance says firmly.

Gideon leans back in his chair.  "So forget it," he says, lazily.  "What's the point of this anyway?  Are we hoping to win the case?  To show Crouch is innocent?  Do any of us believe that?"

There's a rumbling of dissent around the room, and Fabian quickly nods.  "Exactly!  How do we benefit from a Death Eater walking free?"

"You shouldn't focus on the specifics of the case," Dumbledore says, softly.  "We are hoping to prove to the Ministry that due process must be followed.  Barty may be guilty, but if he is prosecuted without proper representation, then it opens the door-"

"What Dumbledore is saying," Moody interrupts, "is that if the son of a politician can be executed by the state without a single word said in his defence-"

"Alastor!" Bones looks horrified.

"It's the point we're making!" Moody argues.  "If Crouch is killed, then next week it'll be," and he lifts his stick, pointing around the room, "one of those boys at the back, then it'll be Diggle or Jones or Frankie, or you, or me, or Dumbledore himself."

"...and if Crouch didn't get representation," Fabian muses, softly, "then neither will we.  And you saw what happened with old Vector."

"Exactly," says Moody, nodding.  

Dumbledore gives the room a serious look.  "The judicial system needs to be applied fairly to us all - not just those we agree with.  We cannot write young Crouch off just because he isn't one of ours."

The room falls briefly silent as these words sink in - and then Pettigrew grins.

"I've got it!"

Black arches an eyebrow.  "Got what?"

"The way in," he says, with a broad smile.  And then he points a podgy finger at Lily.  "Evans is fucking Malfoy.  Get Malfoy to stand the money.  Crouch is represented, Malfoy is celebrated by his friends for helping a dark wizard in need, and Evans provides the money-"

"-and there's nothing more a Malfoy likes," Black grins, "than a favourable deal that costs him nothing."

The room turns towards her, expectation on their faces, and she tries desperately to come up with a credible reason to dash the idea.  

"No," Vance says, suddenly.  "It's too obvious."

"The idea was to gain spies," Bones adds, quickly.  "Not to expose the only person we've got in their regime."

" _She's_ the only person we've got?" Diggle says, exasperatedly.  "No offence, dear."

"None taken," she mutters.

Gideon shakes his head.  "I'm with the ladies," he says.  "We shouldn't be risking Evans here, and Malfoy would smell a rat if Evans suddenly offered him a bag full of galleons."  

"Not necessarily," Black argues.  "I know that family.  He might be blinded by the chance to be Crouch's saviour."

"If he felt that way, he'd have already done it," Lily says, quietly - and she's gratified when Potter and the Prewett brothers nod along.

Fabian raises his hand.  "I vote we support Crouch's defence openly - for the right democractic reasons."

"To show we're better than they are," Hestia Jones says, raising her hand.  "To show we believe in democracy."

"I'm in," says Gideon, raising his hand.

"All in favour raise your hand and say 'aye'," Moody says, using his stick to count the votes.  "And the nays?"  He counts again, and then nods.  "The ayes have it.  Looks like your bag of galleons is going in under your own name, Albus."

"Put it in under mine," Potter says, suddenly.  "It's the sort of cause my father would've supported."  He shoots a look at Black.  "A father shouldn't leave his son unsupported, even if he turns out like Crouch."  

Lily watches the two, and she knows that Potter's statement is more about reinforcing his own steadfast belief in Black, reminding him that blood isn't what counts - that since renouncing his own, Potter is his family.

"It doesn't matter where it comes from," Fabian says, quietly, "but speaking of a bag full of galleons, why isn't Dung here?"  

* * *

Mundungus Fletcher doesn't like this side of Diagon; his old patch by Knockturn was much more lucrative, but the last few weeks have been more than unkind.  He isn't sure exactly who has placed the target on his back, having been hounded left and right by Strikers - and all Strikers who are unwilling to hammer out a mutually beneficial deal with him.  

 _Unheard of_ , he thinks.  Malfoy is the obvious candidate, with his connections with Snape and his links to the Lestrange brothers, who seem convinced that he's interfering in their livelihoods.

"That's the problem with these Purebloods," he mutters to himself as he packs his pipe with loose tobacco, "they're paranoid.  See things that aren't there."

"Is that so?"

Fletcher almost drops his pipe at the sudden interruption, and in his efforts to catch it, he's wrong footed, and finds himself pinned against the wall, Rabastan Lestrange's wand pointed squarely at his forehead.

"Rabastan," Fletcher says, his voice an octave higher than usual.  He coughs softly, hoping to correct it.  "Good evening."

"Yes, good evening to you, Fletcher," adds Rodolphus, stepping out from the shadows, a nasty smile stretching across his face.  "I'm glad we've stumbled across your new patch.  ...I think it's time we had a little chat."

Fletcher swallows hard, and gives the smallest of laughs.  "And does this chat have to take place under duress, or do you think your charming brother could lower his wand?"

"Bast," Rodolphus says - and just the use of his name by his brother is enough to make Rabastan's wand edge downwards, pointing at Fletcher's feet instead of his head.  

"Oh wonderful, now you're just going to blast off my toes," Fletcher smiles insincerely, "I can see how that's much better."

"Come now, Fletch," Rabastan says with a nasty grin, "I can't have you running away from us, can I?"  

"You sound ungrateful to me, Fletcher.  Bast can blow out your brains if you prefer," Rodolphus says, almost lazily.  "You heard him, Bast - put your wand back up."


	70. Family

"Quickly," she says, grabbing Lucius' hand and pulling him down an alley.  "They're full of crazy ideas tonight," she warns.  She doesn't pause to work out if this is Severus or Lucius - she's too fearful of one of the Order following her and spying Lucius Malfoy, and deciding to recruit him for their cause, inadvertently pushing both her and Bean in more deeply with the Dark Lord.

 _Thank the heavens for the Prewett brothers_.

"This is new and different and exciting," he says, with a dangerous smile, as she pulls him down one street and then another.  She suddenly stops and wraps her arms around him, readying herself to Apparate - and at that moment he halts her with his wand.  "Now now, as much as I'm enjoying you taking such an energetic and masterful lead-" and then he gives her a feral grin, "-is that what dear young Severus is into these days?  Being pushed around?  Bossed about?   _Dominated_ by his witch?"

"Our relationship is none of your business, you insufferable wizard!  I'm only Apparating us, and I assure you, I am perfectly capable!  Now quickly, before they follow us!"

Before she can cast the spell, Lucius chuckles and grabs her, pulling her body close to his, his hips pressing against hers, and his breath uncomfortably warm in her ear.  "This isn't about ability, you insufferable witch," he drawls, tightening his hold on her, his wand in his right hand, and his left arm wrapping around her waist until his palm is firmly planted on her midriff, "but I must be the one to Apparate us because only I can bring us both through the protections of Malfoy Manor." 

* * *

They land heavily on the outskirts of the grounds, and she brushes leaves from her cloak as Lucius straightens his own.  "Are you quite all right?" he asks.  "You're looking a little green."

"Fine," she says, although he's right - she does.  Apparation through pregnancy hasn't been an issue until this moment, and his bumpy landing so late in proceedings has left her feeling a little queasy.  "Why the Manor?  Is Sev here?"

"Up there," he says, pointing a long finger to an illuminated window - and her heart thumps harder when she sees her partner cradling a baby to his chest, a contented smile on his face as he alternates between looking out over the grounds, and gazing at the child in his arms.  

Lily's about to move forwards when she sees Narcissa appear behind him, her arm around his waist, and then one of his around her shoulders.  Lily's heart slows as she watches Narcissa contentedly resting her head against Severus' shoulder, her fingers toying with the baby's shawl.

"Are they…"  She trails off, unsure of what she intends to ask.

"Irritatingly close?" Lucius mutters, holding his arm out for Lily to take.  "Yes."  And then he walks her up the gravel path, and glances over at her, a shark like smile on his face.  "You needn't fret - she wouldn't do anything without my express consent, and Severus knows better than to cross me."  

She's certain he means this to be reassuring, but she remembers how Severus felt in his memories, and the whispered words of desire from Narcissa, and she can't help but pull Lucius up the path at speed, desperate to reach the Manor and break up the cosy scene between their respective partners.  

* * *

"Lily!"  

It's Narcissa who reaches her first, as Severus still has his arms full of wriggling baby, and when Narcissa pulls her into a hug, Lily can feel her own jealousy melting away.

"Cissy, put her down," Severus says, lightly, after a moment.  "It's my turn."

Narcissa releases Lily, and smiles, kissing her on the cheek, and then turns back to Severus.  "Forget Lily hugging you," she says, teasingly, "let her hold Dray."

Lily shoots Lucius a quizzical look.  "Dray?  I thought you wanted to call your son Ophiuchus?"

"This is Draco," Narcissa answers, proudly, taking her son from Severus and nuzzling him for a moment before gently passing him into Lily's waiting arms.  

"Cissy's idea," Lucius says, with a small smile.  "Dray is a more palatable nickname than Ophi, I suppose."

"Dragon is a pretty cool name altogether," Severus grins.  "Better than Severus anyway."

At his words, Narcissa looks up sharply.  "You don't like your name?"

"Sounds too fantastical for the Muggles," he mutters, "so they shorten it."

Lucius arches an eyebrow.  "To what?  To Sev?  It's not such a hardship, surely?"

"To Russ," Lily says, adjusting baby Draco in her arms so he's resting comfortably, his small hands clenching into fists by his face as he yawns.  "Russell is a Muggle name, so…"

Lucius scoffs.  "Ridiculous.  Severus is a Muggle name!  What was that emperor's name?  Septimius Severus?"

"An emperor having it is not proof of it being a Muggle name," Severus says, sinking into a nearby chair.  "Maybe a few thousand years ago, but not in modern Britain."  He gives a soft laugh.  "Apart from in my father's mind."

"Your father named you?"

"Gosh, Draco's absolutely adorable," Lily says, noticing the dark look growing on Severus' face, deliberately drawing Lucius' and Narcissa's attention back to their child.  "I love his name.  It suits him somehow."

Lucius grins.  "Strong and powerful, just as a Malfoy should be.  None of this astronomy nonsense."

Lily raises her eyebrows towards Severus, who silently shakes his head, warning her not to mention the constellation.  

Narcissa doesn't retort directly either, but she smoothly takes Draco away from Lily, cradling her son in her arms.  "Don't you listen to your father," she murmurs, softly, "because he talks such nonsense."

"And on that topic," Lucius says, loudly, "what were you babbling on about when you dragged me through half the streets tonight?"

At this, Severus' head snaps up.  "What happened, Lil?"  

She glances at Lucius and Narcissa, and then back at Severus, her implication clear.

"You're amongst friends," Severus presses.  "Tell us, tell _me_.  Now, Lil."

"...they're going to defend Crouch," she says, quietly - and then she looks at Lucius, who is smirking, and she can't help but wonder if he's smirking at her responding to Severus' stern command after his earlier accusation of domination.  She takes a deep breath.  "They wanted you to fund it, Lucius.  Through me."  

Lucius looks over at Severus.  "Absolutely not."  

"No, listen to what she's saying," Severus urges.  " _Wanted_ , not want.  Who are they going with instead?"

"Potter."

Lucius throws his arms in the air.  "Potter?  Potter!  It's between me and Potter?"

"They wanted Black," she says, quietly.  

"No," Narcissa says, quickly crossing the room, Draco fussing quietly in her arms as she moves.  "They wouldn't believe him."

"That's what he said," she says.  "So they thought they'd come through me."

"To me," Lucius says, heavily.  He exchanges a look with Narcissa, and both Severus and Lily note the glance he makes towards his son.  

"They said the…"

"Dark Lord," Severus fills in, guessing at the reason for Lily's hesitation, knowing she would be unsure how to refer to him within Lucius' company.  

She shoots him a grateful smile.  "They said he would reward you for stepping up to help, and you would relish spending someone else's money for your own benefit."

Severus chokes back a laugh, causing Lucius to glare at him.  "And you didn't agree to this plan?" Lucius presses.

She shakes her head.  "I said you wouldn't believe that I could come up with such money, and it would blow their only spy."

He pauses, mulling this over.  "Good."

"They aren't going to defend Barty then?" Narcissa asks.

"They are," she says.  "They talked a lot about due process, and if the right thing wasn't done now, then it would make it easier to prosecute them in the future."

Lucius briefly closes his eyes.  "We should've realised they would see it in such a way."  

"...and how does Potter fit into this?"  Severus says, his face darkening.  

"They're doing it themselves - under their own name," she explains, moving to stand by Severus' seat, reaching for his hand.  "To prove that they are the righteous, and that justice is for everyone - not just those aligned one way, or those with money, or those with a certain type of blood."

"And Potter's keen to present himself as the most worthy and righteous of them all," Severus says, looking sick.

"Now, Severus, if Potter wants to put himself in the limelight," Lucius says, with a small smile, "then we shouldn't stand in his way."

"No?  Why shouldn't we?  It's school all over again," Severus argues, his voice getting louder.  "He always comes out of things smelling of roses, perfect fucking Potter-"

"Severus," Narcissa admonishes, indicating to the baby in her arms, "language, please."

"He can't hear me," Severus mutters, colouring slightly at being rebuked in such a way, "and you all know I'm right!  This is all about Potter coming out on top, being revered for his saintly actions-"

"Putting himself in the limelight," Lucius reiterates.  "Making himself noticed."  He gives a tight smile.  "You shouldn't be angry - you should be celebrating, Severus.  I think our friend Potter is about to find out what it is to be notorious..."

* * *

"Come now," Fletcher says, his hands unsteady as he pockets his pipe, "I have no argument with you good fellows."

Rodolphus glances at Rabastan.  "No?"

"You sold Rodolphus here to the aurors."

"I didn't!"

Rabastan trails his wand up and down, and then points it at Fletcher's heart.  "You _did_.  They ripped up his house, and hassled his wife.  Why?  Revenge, was it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Fletcher protests.  "I'm just a simple mover and shaker."  

"And Bast moved and shaked you out of his deal," Rodolphus says, loudly.  

"That would be moved and shook," Fletcher corrects, and then instantly gives a weak laugh when both brothers raise their wands to his face again.  "No, no, I didn't do anything.  Always disappointing to lose business, but I'm not one for retribution.  Besides, I'm out of that game now."

Rodolphus shoots him a sceptical look.  "Really?"

"I've heard Snape's been supplying you again," Rabastan says.

"Did you hear that?"  Fletcher gives him an uneasy look, glancing towards the end of the alley, and hoping that someone will venture down.  "Seen Snape, have you?  Horse's mouth, was it?"

"Malfoy," Rabastan says, quietly.  "He's family, remember?"

"Not yours."

"Mine," Rodolphus says, drawing his own wand.  "He's my family.  And Bast here is mine too."

Rabastan gives a nasty smile.  "So that makes him my family.  We're practically brothers."

"And Snape?" Fletcher asks, almost innocently.  "Whose brother would he be?"

Rodolphus gives a nasty laugh.  "I'm not sure it's a _brotherly_ relationship, but I believe Snape and my brother-in-law are close, if you catch my meaning?"

"I see."  Fletcher adjusts his collar.  "And here I was thinking that Snape spent his time getting his end away with Avery, but no!  You're all brothers together."

Rabastan jabs his wand into Fletcher's neck.  "Get to the point, Fletcher."

Fletcher swallows uneasily, the wand biting into the soft skin of his neck, realising that he pushed too far.  He sniffs.  "And so what if Malfoy told you that Snape's been supplying me?  It's hardly a secret that Snape and I have a _business_ relationship of sorts.  You knew as much from your own interactions with him."

"I'm not interested in Snape," Rodolphus says, angrily, his wand raised.  "I'm interested in why you brought the aurors banging at my door."

Rabastan twists his wand in Fletcher's neck.  "And I'm interested as to why you thought blackmailing my family-"

"It wasn't blackmail," Fletcher protests loudly.  "I didn't do anything-"

Rabastan sneers.  "You thought you could gain revenge for me cutting you out of a lucrative deal with Snape, didn't you?"

"No, I swear-"

"Cutting him," Rodolphus grins, his wand pressed against Fletcher's cheek, "now there's a good idea, Bast-"

"No, boys, please!  Please!" Fletcher begs.  "I swear I didn't, I wouldn't," and he shakes as Rodolphus' wand digs into his face, "I wouldn't start shopping my contacts!  I've got a business to think about, a reputation-" 

"You said a moment ago that you weren't in this business," Rodolphus sneers.  "Which is it?  In or out?"

"I'm in, I'm in!" shouts Fletcher, his knees wobbling as the wand digs in harder.  "I'm in the business, and I keep my customers happy!  All of you, buyers and sellers alike!  And I don't hold a grudge, I don't blame you and Snape, Rabastan," he says, desperately, "I still deal with Snape!  I haven't done him any harm!  I wouldn't call the aurors!"  

"You wouldn't do Snape harm," Rabastan hisses, "because he's the brewer - without him, you have no business!  But me?  Me, you'll fuck me, and you'll fuck my brother here!  What do we matter to the likes of you?"

"I haven't done anything to you," Fletcher wails, "either of you," he says, desperately, meeting Rodolphus' eyes.  "I wouldn't do such a thing - why would I draw attention to my business in such a way?  This Imperatum thing is a mess and-"

Rabastan pulls his wand away from Fletcher, and puts his hand on Rodolphus' wand arm, holding him still.  "What do you know about Imperatum?"

Fletcher looks anxious.  "The punters don't want my potions," he says, "not since the Ministry's been flooding Hogsmeade.  Come on, lads," he says, earnestly, "you can't have missed it."

Rabastan and Rodolphus exchange a glance that Fletcher can't read.  "...that potion I was getting from Snape," Rabastan says, quietly, "did you have any other deals for him?"  

Fletcher nods - and again, the two brothers glance at each other, and Fletcher watches each of them desperately, hoping to glean something from them.  

"Deals which are still ongoing?"

Fletcher nods again.

Rabastan gives a greedy smile.  "Then I think we should put this little incident to one side, and I'll do you a deal, Fletcher."

"As one of my most respected, most trusted customers," Fletcher says, hurriedly, "a deal would be most welcome."  

"...Dolph here will lower his wand," Rabastan offers, "and in return, I want some information."

"Information?"  Fletcher swallows hard.  "What sort of information?"

"I want to know about Snape and his deals."

"Rabastan," Fletcher says, earnestly, "I won't have any deals if word gets around that I reveal my sources.  That's what this is about - protection for the buyer and seller alike.  If you know what he's brewing, and who for, you can undercut him-"

"Undercut you, more like," Rabastan hisses, "that's what you're worried about!"  He leans in menacingly.  "We're not all on the make, you horrible little wizard."

"Wait," says Rodolphus, slowly, and then he mutters something in Rabastan's ear, who eventually nods.  Rodolphus flashes Fletcher a small smile.  "We appreciate your predicament, Fletcher, and we can be reasonable."

"Thank you."

"We'll keep off your turf, and off Snape's back.  You have our solemn promise."

"...and what do you want in return?"

"One deal.  That's all.  One."

Reluctantly, Rodolphus' wand still pressing in his face, Fletcher nods.  "I can offer one."

"Good," Rabastan says, with a dark smile.  "Because I want to know every last detail of the most expensive deal you're brokering for Snape."

Fletcher nods again, and holds his hand out, watching warily until Rodolphus lowers his wand and both wizards shake hands with the broker.

"Need to take us to check your records?" Rodolphus asks.  "I don't want you fobbing us off, telling us it was eighteen hundred vials of Polyjuice or something else ridiculous.  We're talking about his most lucrative individual potion here, not industrial batches of common brews."

"...no need for records in that case," Fletcher says, his voice a little more steady now that the immediate threat has been removed, "the most expensive potion I broker for Snape is his most memorable one."

"Come on, Fletcher," Rabastan hisses, "don't make me drag it out of you."

"The most lucrative potion that Severus Snape sells is," and Fletcher pauses for dramatic effect, enjoying the greedy look on the two brothers' faces as they hang on his every word, before whispering loudly, " _Wolfsbane_."


	71. Unwanted attention

Lucius groans when Narcissa untangles herself from his embrace, and starts to stand up from her place on the sofa.  "Cissy!  Cissy, for Merlin's sake, leave the boy be.  He's perfectly fine."

"He should be asleep in his cot," she argues, "it's not good for him to get used to being rocked to sleep."

"I promise I won't continue it with him, Narcissa," Lily quickly jokes, "when we go back home."

Lucius laughs loudly at the idea of Lily rocking Severus to sleep, earning himself a cold look from Narcissa - fearful that he'll wake their baby, and Severus shoots Lily an equally cold look and fusses with the edge of Draco's blanket.  

"Very funny, Lil," he grumbles.  

"I thought so."

Severus looks up at Narcissa, who is now standing over the pair.  "Cissy, you heard Malf.  Draco's fast asleep, and if you move him-"

"-he'll scream for hours and hours and hours, like he did last night," Lucius warns.  "Let Draco use Severus as a mattress.  He doesn't seem to mind being dribbled on."  He opens his mouth to say something else disparaging, but seeing Severus' fierce scowl, he thinks better of it, and keeps quiet.  

Narcissa looks reluctant to leave her child, but the combination of Lucius beckoning her back towards the sofa, and Lily looking adoringly at Draco being held against Severus' chest, dissuades her from arguing further.  "Half an hour," she concedes, "then he'll have to be woken up anyway.  He'll want feeding."

"He always wants feeding," Lucius grumbles.  

"He's sounding more and more like you, Sev," Lily teases, stroking the tip of Draco's soft cheek, and smiling when a tiny hand reaches and grips her forefinger.  

"Bloody hell," Severus mutters, softly, watching the scene unfolding before him with fascination, "what's this, get at Severus night?" 

Lucius grins as Narcissa sits back down next to him, and he pulls her close to him.  "You're showing your sensitive side, Severus - it's far too tempting to prod that soft underbelly we didn't know you had."

Narcissa gives a soft laugh.  "You're like a little hedgehog - spiky on the outside, and squidgy in the middle."

"Yeah well, I've had enough.  You can have him back," Severus grumbles, but Lily's hand stops him from shifting Draco away from his chest.

"Don't be so prickly," she whispers - but her choice of word earns her another angry scowl.  "Sev, stop it, we're only teasing."  She lowers her voice further.  "And this look suits you.   _Really_ suits you."

He straightens slightly.  "Yeah?"

"Yes."

"It's rude to whisper," Lucius calls, loudly.  "I do hope you're not filling my son's mind with bad manners and nonsense."

"A nursery rhyme," Lily says, quickly.  "A Muggle one."

Both Lucius and Narcissa look a little alarmed, but Narcissa quickly gains her composure.  "...I think perhaps he prefers the wizarding ones."

"Yeah, the one about flapping Thestrals is much more suitable than Old King Cole," Severus laughs, adjusting Draco in his arms.  The sudden commotion jolts Draco out of his semi-slumber, and he squirms and murmurs, his tiny legs kicking against Severus' chest.

"Great King Rat more like," Lily laughs, remembering Severus' love of the Queen song which stole the riff from the nursery rhyme, causing Severus to laugh even harder.

Lucius looks appalled.  "What are you calling my son?  King _Rat_?"

"No, it's Queen," Severus says, trying to stifle his laughter, his chest heaving.  "Oh shit, I'm going to wake him-"

Quickly, Narcissa stands, and takes Draco from Severus.  "I think Draco needs his own bed now," she says, wrapping his blanket more tightly around him to stop him from kicking out, and then gently kissing her son's forehead as she holds him to her.

"Queen?"  Lucius asks, dubiously.

Lily nods.  "One of Severus' favourite bands."

"Kings and queens are royalty at least," Lucius mutters, stretching.  "Well, if that's the babysitting over, shall we have a drink?"

Severus nods.  "You can twist my arm.  All this baby holding is exhausting."

"Lily?"

"No, thank you," she says, quickly standing.  "I'll help Cissy settle Draco to sleep.  I haven't seen the nursery since he's been in it."

Lucius shoots her a curious look, but doesn't say anything - and then nods, and smiles.  "Then please excuse both myself and Severus, as we shall retire to my study for a nightcap," he says.  "Severus?"

"I won't be long, love," he says, kissing Lily as he passes her.  "Don't go to sleep without me."

"Perhaps when Draco's settled down, you could show Lily to the room the elves have set up for our guests this evening, Cissy?  I'll send Severus along when I've finished with him."

"If Narcissa's busy with Draco, I'm sure I can find my own way," Lily starts to say, but Narcissa nods at her husband, and kisses him chastely on the lips, before turning back to her friend.

"It's no trouble," Narcissa says.  

She starts to say something else, but Lucius ushers Severus out of the room and down the corridor before he can catch what's said.  They walk briskly along until they reach Lucius' study, and Severus follows Lucius inside, jumping as Lucius waves his wand, causing the door to slam loudly behind him.  

"Bloody hell, Malf, they're barely down the hall.  Your kid will be up screaming if you keep making that sort of noise, and I won't protect you when Cissy hexes the daylights out of you."  He grins.  "And I'm done for the night - I'm not getting up to rock him back to sleep when he starts crying."

Lucius simply laughs, and pours a measure into two glasses, taking one for himself and passing the other to his friend.  "...congratulations, Severus."

Severus chuckles and raises his glass, mirroring Lucius' own actions.  "Congratulations?  What for?  Not dropping your boy?"

"No," Lucius smiles, "although I am pleased that you managed to hold onto him."  He pauses, sipping from his glass.

"What then?"

"First things first," Lucius says, stalking behind his desk and yanking a drawer open.  He takes out a rolled bundle of parchment, the pages tied together with a silk bow.  "Here."

"What's this?" Severus says, placing his drink on Lucius' desk and taking the parchment.  He deftly unfastens the knot, and his eyes widen as he scans the page.   _Lily Snape, Halfblood_.  "You did it.  Bloody hell, Malf!  Thank you!  You're right, this is a congratulations!"  He grins widely.  "We should've done this with the girls."

"Well," says Lucius, sitting back in his chair and nursing his drink, "it is a cause for congratulations, but that wasn't what I was offering them for."  He smiles, taking another sip of his drink.  "You still owe me for those."

"I haven't forgotten."

"And have you had any thoughts upon the method?  ...I have heard rumours that you have been developing a taste for-"

"No," Severus says, quickly.  "It's not appropriate."

Lucius smiles again.  "That's what I was hoping you'd say."  He leans forward.  "I was concerned that you would...lose your way."

"What do you mean?"

"In that _lust_ ," Lucius hisses, his voice low.  "I know how it feels, Severus - that thrill of power, that desire, and no-" he says, holding his hand up and stopping Severus from protesting, "I know what you've been doing.  You and Avery.  Avery, Severus!"

Severus scowls, casting his wand to send a chair hurtling towards him, and then sinks into it, his petulance emanating from him.  "I didn't realise you were the jealous type," he spits.

"Oh hush," Lucius chides.  "I thought you were a behind-the-scenes man," he continues, "I thought you were happy to hide in the shadows - and then I hear you've been slicing up Muggles in the streets.  Again."  He sniffs, and sits back.  "Fancy your chances in Muggle court, do you?  You've forgotten that Avery ran away the last time, leaving you to carry the can?"

"...I know what he did."  

"And that last sentence hasn't yet been spent, has it?"

"...no."

"Shall I get your suit ready?  Fancy a few years in a Muggle dungeon instead of Sluggy's, do you?"

"Look, I get it, Malf!  Leave off, yeah?"

"Well then," Lucius says, triumphantly, "a little more caution might be in order when you wander the streets at night.  Take a little more care.  These rumours will bring unwanted attention to your door."

"Your distress has been noted," Severus says, waspishly.

"It's not my distress!" Lucius argues, his voice full of disdain, and his temper building.  "If you're to do this for me-"

"I said I would!"

"-then remember that you're no use to me if you're getting a reputation - and, don't look at me like that, Severus, you are!  It's not just the Muggle world, is it?  I know you've been at the Dark Lord's meetings!  I spent months keeping you out of them, and you've managed to find your own way in.  You and bloody Avery."

"You used to want me to be in," he says, angrily.

"Yes, well, things change.  I was...less experienced then."

Severus nods tightly.  "It's not out of choice, Malf.  I've been dragged in."

"Then get out," Lucius warns, fiercely, "get out of this whilst you're still anonymous - before you're noticed!  The more meetings you attend, the harder it is to leave."

Severus silently reaches into his pocket and pulls out the Striker badge that Avery had so proudly bestowed on him.

"...shit."  Lucius runs his hand through his hair, and Severus notes that his fingers have a new tremor to them.  "I didn't realise you were legitimately a Striker - I thought you were just building bridges with Avery, crafting a backstory which would allow you to maintain your favoured stance on the fence.  Whatever possessed you to sign up to something so ridiculous?  A Striker, Severus!  It's little more than a thug.  A bully boy."  He peers at him.  "...or have I got you all wrong?  Is this what you've secretly wanted all along? You do so enjoy the thrill of the fight, don't you?"

"I didn't choose this!" Severus shouts, and then, seeing Lucius' arched eyebrow, lowers his voice.  "...come on, you know what Avery gets like.  He's full of it, Malf, full of trying to prove himself.  Mulc and Ros and Reggie have left him on his own, left him to make his own decisions, his own choices-"

"-and he's doing very successfully, by all accounts."

Severus nods.  "And he wants me…  Wants me to be with him."

"How charming," Lucius smiles, and then reaches over to tap the parchment in Severus' grip.  "I shall send these back and get new ones made.  Severus Avery has quite a ring-"

"-fuck yourself, Malf!"

"No, _fuck you_ , Severus!"  Lucius shouts, standing.  "I've been trying to cover for you-"

"Not for me!  For you!"

"Yes, for me!  For me, and for you, for all of us!"  Lucius looks pained.  "I'm trying to keep us all above water here!"

"And what do you think I'm doing?"

Lucius gives a half laugh.  "That's the problem, isn't it, Severus?  I haven't got a clue what you're up to anymore."  He exhales loudly.  "This isn't…  I didn't bring you in here to rebuke you."

"Good."

"...but I need this _situation_ to go away.  As quietly and as neatly as possible."

"I know."  Severus drains his glass and sits back down.  "You shouldn't worry so, Malf.  Avery…  It's fine, it's nothing to get upset about."  He looks pointedly at his empty glass, and Lucius rolls his eyes, casting so the bottle of firewhisky spirals towards them.  Lucius catches it, and pours another measure into their glasses.  

"Happy?"

Severus nods, taking a sip.  "Marvellous."  And then he holds the glass aloft.  "I thought a potion would be neatest."

Lucius shakes his head.  "Not another.  Not on top of all the others.  I can't trust what Father's taking - can't trust it'll interact properly."

"Not another one.  I've been modifying Bast's potion," Severus says, his voice low.  

"...you've changed it?"

"I haven't supplied him with it, but I've done it in the lab," he says, quietly.  "I'm certain that I've got the dose right.  It's ready to go."  

Lucius swallows hard.  "How certain?"

"Getting cold feet?"  Severus gives a dark smile.  "We don't have to-"

"We do," Lucius interrupts, taking a long draw from his glass - but his voice is weak when he speaks.  "I do."

"We need a cover story," Severus says, quietly.  "I can get it into Bast's hands through Fletcher, and then he can get it into Abraxas' mouth on one of his visits, which means it's best if you're not here."

Lucius looks conflicted.  "...you mean for Cissy to take the fall?"

"No!"  Severus looks appalled.  "No, but I mean for Cissy to be here, with Bella.  She should invite her sister for an afternoon indoors, and you should take Draco-"

"Me?  And do precisely what with him?"

"You are the boy's father, are you not?" Severus laughs.  "It's only for a few hours.  Take him for a walk in a park, or a stroll around the Malfoy vault at Gringotts - that'll take half a day with all of those treasures you've got stashed away."  He leans further forward.  "Bast will invite himself when he hears Bella is coming over, because it's too good an opportunity to miss, especially with you out.  He'll do the deed, the potion will take effect and Cissy will be sat with Bella.  She's got a witness - the mouthiest witness of them all - and you'll be miles away from the scene."  

Lucius runs his finger around the rim of the glass, his expression unfathomable - and for a moment, Severus thinks he's going to dismiss the idea, but then he nods.

"Yes?"

"Yes," Lucius agrees.  

Severus looks relieved.  "I thought you were getting cold feet.  ...when it comes down to it, he's still your father."  

"In name only," Lucius says, darkly.  "He's a liability.  He brings danger to my door.  It needs to stop.  For Draco and Cissy's sake."

Severus nods.  "Then get Cissy to set a date with Bella, and I'll put the rest in motion."

"...have you told her?"

"Lily?"  Severus shakes his head.  "Is there any point upsetting her?  ...have you told Cissy?"

"Is there any point upsetting her?"

"Touché," Severus says.

They sit quietly for a moment, sipping their whisky, and then Lucius suddenly raises his glass.  "You've thought of everything.  I should congratulate you."

"On my potion?"  Severus gives a broad smile.  "I'm pleased with it, but don't forget, you helped, Malf, you got me the apprenticeship-"

"No," Lucius says, a strange look on his face, "although your work is commendable and appreciated."  He pauses, taking another sip of his drink.  "I dare say that this had rather less thought put into it."

"...I don't understand."

"I'm fighting for my family," Lucius says, "for myself, and Cissy, and Draco."

Severus freezes, his glass halfway to his lips.

"Who are you fighting for, Severus?"

"...Lily," he says, quietly.

"And yourself?"

He nods.

"And anyone else?"  

There's a momentary pause, and then Severus places his glass on the desk, and he stands, and when he speaks, his voice is low and even.  "And who else is there, Malf?"

"...you tell me, Severus."  Lucius raises his glass and shakes it.  "I rather thought that's what we were celebrating."  Lucius stands, putting himself at eye-level with his old friend.  "It's clever, I'll give her that," he says, quietly.  "Cissy couldn't tell, although it hadn't gone unnoticed that Lily was overly interested in her preparations for our child these last few months."

"Just a Muggleborn interested in wizarding customs, that's all," Severus says, quickly.  "I grew up mixed, so I don't know either-"

"And then I pulled her into my arms tonight, intending to Apparate her along with me, and it's curious, Severus, because you really can't tell just by looking, but when you're pressed up against her, there's _something_ not quite right."

Severus raises an eyebrow, trying to look nonchalant.  "And what are you doing pressing yourself up against my witch?  You can sidealong without attaching yourself like a limpet."  

Lucius smiles.  "Yes, you can.  ...but I prefer a firm grip."  He eyes Severus curiously.  "There's no magic, though."

"...you're talking in riddles."

Lucius gives a sly grin.  "Don't be coy, Severus.  You can feel a magical child when you're close enough - when you know what you're looking for, and I've spent months feeling Draco's magic pulsing away under her skin.  ...but with Lily?"  He shakes his head.  "Just her usual thrum."

Severus shrugs.  "I don't know what else you were expecting."

"Ah, now I understand!  Of course, it's understandable, with the unfortunate Muggle heritage on both sides, it's no wonder your child would be lacking.  A squib is a terrible shame-"

"Fuck you, a squib!  My kid's bursting with fucking magic!" Severus yells, his fury getting the better of him.  "That's just the concealment spell, you utter bastard," - and then, as Lucius moves around the desk, his arms open wide and his grin even wider, Severus' heart sinks, realising what he's been goading into revealing.  "You utter _utter_ bastard."

"Severus, Severus, don't look so disheartened.  We're on the same side," Lucius says, pulling him into his arms.  "You can trust me.  You can trust Cissy."  And then he claps his friend on the back, and pulls back, this time cradling Severus' thin face with his large hand.  "I'm _thrilled_ for you.  Both of you.  Really." 

"Yeah?"

"Yes," Lucius says, firmly.  

"And Cissy knows?"

"Her suspicions are the same as mine," Lucius says, "and with your permission, I'll tell her about this little conversation."

There's a long pause whilst he thinks it over.  "Cissy," Severus eventually agrees.  "Nobody else.  Not the elves, not Bella or Dolph or Avery or-"  

Lucius nods, understanding.  "Nobody else."  He lowers his voice.  "I understand that this news mustn't reach the Dark Lord."  

Severus nods.  "...thank you."

Lucius grins again.  "Are you excited?"

"I'm absolutely terrified," Severus says, quietly.

"Well, if that little display tonight with my boy is any indication, you're going to do just fine."  He pulls Severus into another embrace, whispering in his ear, mirth evident in his voice.  "Just think, Baby Malfoy and Baby Snape - they're going to cause mayhem when they hit Hogwarts together, hand-in-hand.  Slytherin house won't have seen anything like it before.  Not even in our schooldays.  Congratulations, Dad."

And this time, hearing Lucius' excited words, Severus reciprocates the hug, holding his old friend tightly to him.


	72. Unblemished

He visibly winces when Cissy emits a high-pitched squeal and throws her arms around Lily, pulling the younger woman to her and hugging her tightly, before excitedly encouraging her to drop the concealment spell.  His breath catches in his chest as Lily does as she requests, his eyes raking over his fiancée's body, watching as the presence of their baby is announced, and no longer plausibly deniable.

"You're not comfortable?" Lucius asks, stepping up to Severus, his voice low and soft in Severus' ear.  "With us knowing?"

"...it's not that," Severus mutters, twisting his empty glass in his long fingers.  "I'm not particularly comfortable with any woman shrieking."

Lucius gives him a curious look.  "Not even in happiness?"  Then he gives him a knowing smile.  "Of course.  I should've let you speak to Lily alone.  First.  Before I announced your news to Cissy."

He shrugs, tightly.  "Perhaps."

"Or I should've let you announce it?"  Lucius' eyebrow lifts as he watches Severus' demeanour.  "Is that it?  Did I steal your thunder?"

"It's no matter, Malf.  What is done is done."

"Severus, Severus," Lucius chastises, his tone amused.  He swiftly summons a cowed house elf, who appears instantaneously at the snap of his fingers, brandishing the bottle of whisky they'd been drinking from in Lucius' study.  A brief frown flickers across Severus' face, trying to fathom how the elf has responded to the request so quickly - but before he can question it, the glasses are refilled, and the elf has disappeared once more into the ether.  

Lucius passes the newly filled glass back to his friend, and then pats his cheek.  "Sulking does not become you."  He then points with his glass towards the two excited women, who are lost in their own joyful conversation.  "I should think you have reason to be pleased.  Your good witch seems to have taken to me - to _us_ \- knowing your little secret rather well, all things considered."

"She hasn't had opportunity to say anything to the contrary as yet," Severus mutters.

"You're concerned about what shall be said after hours?  When we have retired to our respective chambers?"  

Severus nods, stiffly, his eyes focused on the glass in his hand.  

"I do not think you need concern yourself.  I think it is valuable for her to have someone to confide in," Lucius says, quietly.  "Just look at how cheerful Cissy is compared to earlier this evening.  It's clear that she's so terribly pleased that her suspicions have been confirmed."

"Her suspicions?  What's that supposed to mean?" Severus scowls.  "Been talking about us behind our backs, have you?"  

"Oh, always so touchy, Severus.  Yes, yes!  On occasion, my wife and I have discussed our mutual friends, and for that I refuse to apologise," Lucius says, rolling his eyes.  "Mark my words, this is good for both of them.  And for us!  They can bore each other with the tedious minutiae of child-rearing and share techniques for," and Lucius gives a broad smile, waving his hand, "swaddling or whatever it is they intend on doing with all of those blankets."

"...I guess."

"47 blankets, she's bought, Severus.  47!  What child requires 47 blankets?"  He pauses.  "Dare I ask, do you have the same problem?"

"I can't say I've had cause to check how many blankets she's purchased.  I have better things to do when I'm with her than count the contents of her bottom drawer," Severus drawls.

"I didn't count them, thank you very much.  I simply read the receipt left on my desk."  Lucius lets out a sigh.  "Still, she can have as many damned blankets as she requires if it keeps her content.  And I should thank you both," he continues, thoughtfully, looking over at the two women, "I thought Cissy would've been happier now that she has Draco, but look at her now."

Severus gives a small smile.  "She does look pleased."

"Your news has caused a spark in her that I've not seen in a long while."  He pauses.  "Have you seen the way that they can't keep their hands off each other?  They're squealing and hugging and-"

"Jealous?"

Lucius scoffs, and then sniffs loudly.  "I'm merely pointing out that Cissy has shown Lily more affection in the past five minutes than she has me in five months."

Severus bites his lip, trying not to laugh.  "She has been rather preoccupied carrying your child, Malf."

"Yes, and don't I know it," Lucius mutters, "wittering about sickness and tiredness, and-"  He pauses, watching the two women take a seat by the fire, their conversation not ceasing, "-I bet that's what they're doing now, comparing stories about constant aches and pains and sore-"

"It hurts constantly?"

Lucius shoots Severus a curious look.  "From what she's said, I would surmise as such.  Least, if not constantly, the pain is frequent enough to cause her to be miserable.  ...I rather thought she would've cheered once he was delivered."

Severus' gaze doesn't drop from the two women, his eyes boring into the back of Lily's head.  "...you mean to say that Lily's been going through all of that without telling me?"

"Merlin, she's a keeper," Lucius says, slapping him on his shoulder.  "It's all I heard from Cissy, morning, noon and night.  She once woke me at 4am to tell me that she had leg cramp, as if there's anything I can do about leg cramp at 4am.  4am, Severus!  And I had to be up 6, which she bloody well knew!"  When Severus doesn't respond, Lucius pauses, his joviality briefly stalled.  "...you'd want her to wake you and tell you about that?"

"Yes!  I want to know about her tiredness, and sickness, and the aches!  All of it, Malf, I want to know all of it!"  Severus bangs his glass down on a small side table, whisky sloshing over the sides and onto the polished wood, and the sudden noise causes both women to look up sharply from their side of the room.

"Excuse us," Lucius calls, pressing his hand into the small of Severus' back and smoothly leading Severus out of the room - and then, when the door shuts behind them, he shakes his head.  "You need to control your temper."

"This isn't about what I need to do!  What about her?  She needs to not be keeping things from me," he spits, ignoring Lucius' advice, "I'm meant to be her other half, and what?  I bet she's in there telling Cissy things that she's never said to me-"

"Good!"  At Severus' furious expression, Lucius sighs.  "This is _good_ ," he stresses.  "She needs someone to confide in."

"...if it's been such a struggle for her all of these months, and I've not been there for her, if she couldn't even tell me, then what does that make me, Malf?"  He looks pained.  " _I'm_ her partner.  Not Cissy."  

"Lily knows that."

"And I'm…  I'm Dad!"  He shakes his head.  "She should be telling me this stuff, not bottling it up-"

"She's not bottling it up-"

Severus gives a harsh laugh.  "No.  No, she's not - not now!  Not now she's got someone worthy - someone useful, someone she trusts to talk to!"

Lucius winces as Severus' outburst increases in volume, and with a shake of his head, he steps back into the room, leaving Severus alone in the corridor.  Before Severus can follow, Lucius returns, holding Severus' glass in his hand.  He presses it firmly into the younger man's grip, and closes the door behind him.  Then, in a smooth movement, he claps his palm firmly against Severus' shoulder - once, twice, three times - before eventually leaving it to rest, warm and heavy, and gently steers him down the corridor and away from the room where their respective partners are talking.

"Where are you leading me?"

"Tell me, Severus, if the delightful Lily is not at Hogwarts, and you're spending your evenings roaming the streets with Avery-"

"This has nothing to do with-"

"-then you're not spending much time together, are you?"  Lucius quirks an eyebrow.  "You and Lily, I mean.  Not you and Avery.  I've rather gathered that you two are joined at the hip."

"I see her whenever I can," Severus says, defensively.  "Whenever it's safe."

"Which is what?  Once a day?"  Lucius turns to stare at him, his gaze unrelenting.  "Once a week?  Or less often?  Every ten days?  A fortnight? Merlin, Severus, monthly?"  

Severus doesn't answer, but Lucius can feel the younger man's shoulders stiffening beneath his touch.

"Severus?"

"It's not monthly!  It's not like that.  There's no fixed schedule.  I see her whenever I can - for as long as I can!  Days, sometimes.  Whole weekends, even."

"Forgive me, Severus," he says, softly, "but you've had a lot on your mind of late, have you not?"

There's a long wait, but eventually, Severus nods.  "There's a few things going on."

This time, Lucius doesn't answer immediately, but he squeezes Severus' shoulder tightly.  "Then she was protecting you."

"By keeping me in the dark!"

"And you do not do the same for her?"  Lucius scoffs.  "Tell me, Severus, is keeping you in the dark about aches and pains in pregnancy worse than you not telling her about our plot," and he lowers his voice to barely a whisper, "to see my father's end?"

"...it's not the same."

"No?"

"No!" Severus says, shaking Lucius' hand from his shoulder.  "She doesn't need to know about something she can't be involved in."

"And you do not think the same about her pregnancy?  What would you do to assist if she confided in you?  Rush back from your adventures with Avery to mop her brow and rub her feet?"  Lucius gives a small laugh.  "If you can't be with her, then there's no point worrying you with it all.  Besides, Cissy _understands_ , Severus.  In a way that you and I never can.  Don't let your jealousy take this from Lily-"

"-I'm not-"

"-or from Cissy," he warns, his voice low.  "Their...friendship, Severus, means the world to the mother of my child.  I will not have you endanger it with your bruised ego."

Severus' eyes narrow.  "I would never harm Cissy."

"Good," Lucius says, with a smile.  "Then I shall permit you to go and wrest your good witch from mine."  Then he leans in, his tone wicked, "Be quick, whilst you're still her number one."

Instantly, Severus bristles.  "What is that supposed to mean?  Cissy-"

"Not Cissy.  I'm merely pointing out that you should make the most of your time alone with Lily, because you're about to be relegated to second place in her affections by a whining, incapable, needy child."

"Nonsense," Severus says, downing his drink before handing the empty glass back to Lucius, "she'd never prefer you to me."

* * *

When she finally enters the bedroom, he's already in bed - although he sits up with a curious look when he realises there's a small trail of boxes following her in.  She casts at the door, causing it to close behind her, and he laughs when he sees the boxes following her wand and stacking themselves obediently against the far wall.

"You've got them well drilled.  Dare I ask what's in them?"

She smiles, and opens the top box, pulling out a selection of impossibly small baby clothes - three romper suits, a hat, a handful of bibs - and holds them aloft.  "What do you think?"

He shrugs.  "I thought we'd already got clothes for Bean?  Ones we'd chosen.  Together."  

"Apparently Draco has more than he needs."

He arches an eyebrow.  "Really?  A Malfoy with more than he needs?  You do surprise me."

"Oh hush," she says, with a happy smile, turning to put the clothes back into the box.  "It's not just clothes - there's creams and wipes, and toys and a changing mat and at least half a dozen blankets…"  She trails off, and then laughs.  "I've forgotten already what's in the bottom ones!  Honestly, Sev, it's very kind of her.  Of both of them - her and Lucius."

"It'd have been more kind if Malf had left well alone," Severus grumbles, dropping back against the pillows, and pulling the duvet up to cover his bare chest.

When she turns back and sees the covers wrapped around him in such a defensive manner, she stills.  "You're annoyed?"

"...are you?"

"About what?"

Severus peers at her, and she can see the anxiety in his face.  "About them knowing."

"Not especially," she says, quietly.  "I admit, I didn't expect you to tell him-"

"I didn't _tell_ him," he argues, "Malf's got a way of finding things out."

Her eyebrows raise.  "What, you're saying he Imperiused you?"

"No!"  Severus looks annoyed.  "Not a spell.  ...he tricked me."

"Lucius tricked _you_?"  At this, Lily puts her hands on her hips.  "I don't believe it."

"Fine," he snaps, "don't believe me."

Lily watches him warily, slowly walking around the bed until she reaches his side, but she stays out of his reach.  "You're so irritable lately.  You're always on edge."

"You're the one who doesn't believe me!"

"I didn't mean…"  Lily sighs heavily.  "I meant, are you sure you didn't want him to find out?  You're so good with secrets normally.  I can't imagine anyone getting something from you that you didn't want them to know."  She moves forward, and gently pulls at the covers near to his face, moving them away from his mouth.  "...Sev?"  

"...he...said things."

"Lucius did?  About you?"

"About Bean!" Severus says angrily, pulling the duvet more tightly around him, and turning away from her.  "About you!  About us!"

"...like what?"  She waits for his response, and when it doesn't come, she places her hand on his duvet covered back.  "...Sev, talk to me."

Reluctantly, he rolls over, his eyes finally meeting hers.  "He said that when he pulled you to him to Apparate he could tell that you were pregnant, but he couldn't feel any magic, so he knew our baby was going to be a squib."

"A squib?"  She bites her lip.  "And you fell for his goading?  You fell for him telling you that with my weakened magical heritage our baby wouldn't - _couldn't_ \- be magical?"

"It's not just you and your heritage, is it?  It's me.  It's my father too!"

"...you know it's nonsense."

Severus looks pained.  "It's what lots of people believe."

"I know," she says, softly, giving him a small smile, and running the fingers of her left hand down his cheek, her right hand resting on her obvious bump.  "And you leapt to Bean's defence."

"To your defence.  To _our_ defence," he says, gruffly, arching into her gentle touch.  "You're mine.  That's what I'm here for.  To protect you both."

Lily smiles.  "I know, Sev."  She steps away from him, and he mutters under his breath as she removes her hand, his dark eyes watching her every move as she steps around the room.  "Anyway," she says, with a smile, "I think it's been a good thing."

"Really?"

"I'm glad I can speak to Narcissa."

"You can speak to me."

She pauses, watching him closely.  "I _do_ speak to you," she says, carefully, "but I thought you wouldn't want to hear about heartburn and swollen ankles and back ache-"

"-I can rub your back."

The petulance is so clear in his voice, she can't help but laugh in response.  "Sev, we only get a few hours together each week - you don't want me filling the time moaning about all the new ways my body is hurting."

He sits up, the duvet falling around his waist, and his gaze earnest.  "I don't mind!  I am half responsible."  He scratches the back of his neck.  "I want to help.  I don't like the idea of you suffering-"

"-it's not all so bad," she says quickly, her bright eyes meeting his.  "There are other things too."

"...yeah?"  He looks uncertain when she doesn't respond.  "Good things, or…?"  He waits for a response, but Lily suddenly seems embarrassed - and he flings the duvet off his legs, scooting over the large mattress until he's as close as he can get to her without leaving the bed, and he holds his hand out.  "Lil?"

She nestles her smaller hand in his, her eyes briefly closing as his fingers stroke reassuringly against her palm.  

"Lil, you can tell me anything.  Tell me."

"...I want you so much," she whispers.  

His eyes widen in surprise, and he beams, gently pulling her closer to him, causing her knees to press against the edge of the bed.  "You don't need to be shy about that.  Bloody hell, love," he says, kneeling up on the mattress so he can touch his lips to hers, his hands threading in her hair, "that's _brilliant_."

She laughs at his enthusiastic reaction, and kisses him hard in response.  "It's all the time, Sev," she says, hiding her embarrassment with another laugh.  "I think about sex _all_ of the time.  I'm insatiable."

"No," he says, between kisses, "I am still not hearing any downsides."  

"It is when you're not around."

"I'm here now," he says, kissing her more insistently.  

"...Cissy says she couldn't bear to be touched."

 _So I heard_ , he thinks.  He pulls back, the look on his face full of mischief.

She gives a shy laugh at his expression.  "What?"

"So I can help you with these symptoms, you're going to have to tell me more."

"Sev, stop, it's embarrassing-"

"Is it?  Well, I'm not embarrassed!" he laughs.  He pats a space on the mattress, indicating that she should sit near to him, and when she does, he nestles himself behind her, trailing kisses up and down her neck.  His fingers move swiftly across her clothes, helping her to undress, and the tip of his nose nuzzles the soft skin behind her ear.  As she leans back against him, a groan already on her lips, she hears his sinful whisper, "so I can be supportive, you need to tell me in great detail what you've been thinking about," and then he bites her earlobe - and she twists in his arms, determined to capture him in a heated kiss before he can say anything more.

* * *

His movements are slow and gentle, and it's not enough.  She rocks back against him, her hand threading in his hair and tugging, trying to demonstrate that she needs more.  He permits her to pull his head down to meet hers, their lips touching - and then she releases him, biting at his pale neck, her actions hard enough to bruise but he doesn't shy away at her rough treatment.  Instead, he tilts his head, exposing a fresh stretch of unblemished skin.

"Mark me," he hisses, holding her head firmly in place so she can't change her mind, "and make me yours." 

She willingly does as he instructs, the spectre of the ugly scarring on his forearm looming over them.   _Don't think about it_ , the thought screams in her mind as she nips at his skin, leaving faint red trails in her wake.   _Don't think about how he belongs to another_.  

As if he's reading her mind, he suddenly relaxes his hold, permitting her to pull away from his neck - and then he kisses her.  He's gentle again, and she doesn't want it, not tonight.  Tonight she wants the possessive man she fell in love with, the demanding boy with his sinful words and a glint in his eye - so she takes the lead, her tongue wrestling with his, and each time he attempts to slow the pace, she pushes back, her kiss furious and needy and refusing to bow to his will.  

She feels his amusement at her actions, and his fingers dart up and down her skin, softly tracing routes across her arms and her chest, her swollen stomach and her breasts, and her breath hitches and she pulls him closer to her, silently begging him for more - and it's as if he hears her unspoken desperation, and suddenly his touch is firmer and faster, his fingers quickly dancing over her skin, and he scratches and pulls and presses, and she sighs in contentment, wrapping her arms around his marked neck, and smiling into his biting kiss as he pulls her into his lap.

There's an unusual anxiety hanging over them.  She knows her ever-growing body has him nervous; nervous of doing something wrong, of somehow hurting her or hurting their child - and she doesn't know how to form the words to reassure him.  All she knows is that there's a hormone fuelled desire burning inside her, and she's been craving this, craving him - and she's desperate for him to act as he would've all those months before, desperate for him to play, to grip her, to pull and wrestle and hold, to take her roughly and savagely, and she knows that he won't; she isn't even sure herself that he can.  So she leads him, showing him what she wants, what she needs, what she can take - and to her delight, he keenly follows, mirroring each and every of her actions with enthusiasm.

* * *

It's heavenly when she finally lies on her side, him positioned behind her, the mattress and pillows taking the strain of her aching body - but when he enters her, she groans in frustration.

"It's not enough."  She can feel his amusement at her complaint, his chuckle rippling through his body.

"I know it's shallow, love," he says, thrusting his hips more firmly, "but rest a while."  He reaches around her to caress her, his fingertips stroking a wicked pattern across her thighs that has her squirming back against him.  "You can get on top after," he murmurs, "if you haven't worn me out by then."

"I'm too big-"

"You're gorgeous," he says, quickly, his tone stern.  "You're so beautiful to me like this, filled with our child."  He kisses the top of her shoulder, his fingers still moving in that same frustrating, passion building pattern.  "I like you on top.  I want to watch.  I want to see."

She arches back against him, trying to feel him deeper, but the position works against her efforts.  "I miss us.  What we were before.  When we didn't have to be careful, or gentle, or-"

"-wait for our honeymoon," he murmurs into her ear, thrusting his hips harder.  "We'll have Bean by then, and we'll get married, and when we go on our honeymoon, Bean'll stay with your parents, or mine, or Cissy or something, and then we're going to do all the things we can't do now.  All the things we fantasise about."

"Yeah?"  She twists, trying to glimpse him from the corner of her eye.  "And what do you fantasise about?"

"...Lucius said to me tonight that I'm about to be relegated to second in your affections."

She twists more aggressively, trying to bring him into her line of sight.  "Sev…"

"Shhh," he murmurs, not losing pace, "and he's right, love.  When Bean's here, Bean will be your priority.  Which will make me second in your affections."

"It's not-"

"I don't want to be second."

"You won't-"

"I want to be third," he says, abruptly, his hips snapping harder and harder against her, "or fourth, or fifth."

Before she can quiz his strange statement, he pulls away and shifts positions, helping to lift her so she's kneeling over him.  He thrusts back up into her, and then he grins broadly as his eyes rake over her heavily pregnant body.  He leans up, kissing her furiously, and letting his hands wander over her skin.  

"I love you like this," he says, thrusting harder and faster, "I love seeing you with my child, and I want this again and again.  I don't want Bean growing up lonely like I was, Lil.  I want a _family_."

 _Our family_ , she thinks, as she reaches for him, pulling him into a heated kiss.   _Mine_.

* * *

She relaxes into his embrace, her eyelids fluttering as she rests - one of Severus' hands firmly planted on Bean, whilst the other strokes through her hair.

"I need to talk to you, love."

She doesn't want him to talk.  She doesn't want whatever revelation he's going to offer.  She wants to lie with his limbs tangled in hers, his familiar masculine scent - part Severus, part aftershave - washing over her, far away from any part of reality.  But she doesn't say as much.  Instead, she squeezes his hand, and she steels herself to listen intently, terrified of what he's going to say.

"If Bean's a girl," he says, "I think we should carry on your family tradition."

It's not what she thought he was going to say.  Not that she had any real expectations of what he might say, but now he's in the Dark Lord's service - _and that's what he is, one of them_ \- she's been quietly preparing herself for him to utter all sorts of terrible words in her ear.

"And what's that?"

"Rose, Petunia, Lily," he explains.  "I know there's more."

"Auntie Lavender, and cousin Hyacinth."

"Yeah.  But they sound quite old-fashioned," he says, "not like Lily.  So I grabbed a Herbology textbook from the library at Hogwarts, and I came up with five."

"Go on."

"Ivy, Azalea, Holly, Daisy," and then he smiles, "and my favourite - Jasmine."

She nestles against him, enjoying the feel of his warm body pressed to her.  "I can't believe you made a list of names to fit in with my family," she whispers.  "And if Bean is a boy?"

"If Bean's a boy, then I suggest we don't call him Jasmine," he grins.

"I had an idea, but it's along similar lines."

"Oh?  A flower for a boy's name?  Like, Lotus or Aster or something?"

"No.  Evan," she says, quietly.  "And don't say anything, because I know it's not a flower, and I know you're thinking of that awful boy Rosier, but it's my surname, Sev."

"Not for long."

She gives a soft laugh.  "No, not for long.  But that way, he's both of us - both of us together.  Evan Snape.  And..."  

"And?"

"I like that his nickname would be like yours.  Sev and Ev.  You'd be my two boys."

"Yes," he says, kissing her neck, and his hand resting on her bump, "if that makes you happy, love, then that's what we'll do."

"Here's to Jasmine Ivy Azalea Holly Daisy Evan Snape," she laughs, placing her hand over Severus' own, "whichever Bean may turn out to be."    

* * *

She sleeps more soundly than she has done in weeks.  The bed is comfortable, and her partner is alongside her, and when Bean shifts in the night and wakes her, she's left wanting again.  She wasn't lying when she'd confessed to Severus how her hormones had left her filled with desire.  She snakes her hand into his, gently squeezing, seeing if he'll rouse - and to her delight, he does.  She wonders if he'll grumble, but he doesn't - although when she sits astride him, she can see the exhaustion in his eyes, but the grin on his face encourages her to take what she needs.

* * *

"There's something else," he says - and this time she doesn't miss that he's looked at the clock first - doesn't miss that there's something big to this confession; that he's preparing his exit before he's said the words.

"Something bad?"

"...something good," he says, and he slides out of the bed, his pale skin seemingly gleaming in the morning light that's seeping around the curtains.  She catches sight of the darkening marks she left on his neck, and a prickle of shame floods through her at how aggressive she'd been a few hours earlier.  

He bends to pick up his robes, catching her eye, and then he reaches for his bruised neck, a smile playing on his lips.  "Don't fret," he smiles, running his fingers along his marred skin, "I _like_ it.  I've heard witches can be territorial when they're nesting."  And then he chuckles, and delves into his discarded robes, fumbling in one pocket and then the other, and then he's kneeling by her side, a piece of parchment outstretched before her.

She rubs at her eyes, sleep blurring the words - and then she sees what it says.  Her name - her _new_ name, their family name:   _Lily Snape, Halfblood_.  

"That's more than just good," she says, darting a kiss against his lips, "this is amazing.  Incredible.  I can't believe Lucius managed it."  She kisses him again.  "We need to thank him, and we'd better organise that wedding."

"...there's something else."

She doesn't think she can take this cat-and-mouse style of revelation anymore, and she lies back, breathing heavily, her elation almost immediately doused.  He drops the parchment, and sits next to her, pulling her into his arms, and holding her tightly.  

"It's not so bad, love."

"No?"  She sniffs against his arm.  

"No."

"You're lying, because I already know."

"Already know what?"

"I can feel it," she says, placing her hand before him, and twirling it in the air.  "You're different.  Darker.  You've done something, and now you're going to do something more, aren't you?  Something worse, and then you're-"

"-it's still there, though," he says, grabbing her hand, as if trying to feel his own magic.  "You can feel that thrum still?"

"Yes."

"Then I'm not too far gone," he says, although the tone of his voice isn't reassuring.

"Is this Avery?"

"No."

"No?"  Her voice is strained, despite her best efforts.  "Are you sure?  He's not having you behave like he did before, is he?  Fighting and-"

"It's my apprenticeship," he says, quietly.  "Sluggy gave me some books.  Some...restricted texts.  Remember what you said?  What Moody told you?  That you can feed it, tame it?  That the desire, that urge to learn gets it under control?"

She does, but there's something strange in the way he's looking at her - something that she can't put her finger on.  "And that's it?  You've... _fed_ it?"

"That's it," he nods, resting his forehead against hers.  "...for now."

Her heart skips over, and she daren't look up, daren't move, daren't breath.  "Only for now?"  There's a long silence.  "Sev, there's something else, isn't there?  You're going to do something, and-"

"-I need to pay Malf for your papers."  

She feels him tighten, and his anxiety is so great, she can almost touch it, almost cradle it in the palm of her hand.  "And I am to understand that Lucius wants his pound of flesh?"

They sit, foreheads pressed together, for what feels like hours - but she knows that it's barely more than a moment before he speaks, his voice almost inaudible.  "He wants me to kill him.  Abraxas."

"No!"

"It won't be messy, it-"

"Sev, no!  No, it'll break you, it'll tear your soul, it'll-"

"They'll arrest you."  His voice is oddly dull, as if flattened by the weight of his quandary.  "They'll arrest you, and they'll outlaw Bean, and they'll take you both away from me.  Lil, listen to me, we _need_ these papers, and I accept that these papers come at a cost.  You need to do the same."

"Sev, don't - don't do this.  There must be another way, you can't-"

"I can," he interrupts.  "I can, and I must."


	73. Squib blood

Severus sprints up the empty corridors, ignoring Peeves' caterwauling about his tardiness, and in his haste, he flings open one of the doors to the Great Hall with a strength he didn't realise he had, watching in horror as it crashes loudly into the wall.  Hundreds of young faces turn to look at him, heaped spoonfuls of porridge and cereal halfway to their open mouths, and he immediately shrinks a little in stature.  A deep flush creeps from under his robes and rises onto his cheeks as he closes the door quietly, and then he composes himself, pushes his shoulders back, and strides forwards to take his usual seat next to Slughorn.

"Overslept, Severus?" Slughorn asks, with a teasing smile and what Severus thinks is an attempt at a wink.  "Late night?"

It makes his skin crawl when Slughorn does this, not least because Severus knows only too well what his old housemaster thinks of Lily - and the 'all good chaps together' camaraderie does nothing for him; not now, not after all the years he spent sitting on the sidelines whilst at school - out of favour due to his appearance, or name, or demeanour, or heritage, or behaviour, or blood - and he's relieved he at least remembered to apply a glamour to his throat before leaving his rooms.  

"Sorry, sir," he says, choosing the safest response he can think.  Slughorn's comment rankles because he's almost right - Lily and Severus had spent most of the day at Lucius', and after enjoying a luxurious evening meal in the company of their friends, Severus had escorted Lily back to her parents' house.  They'd sat in the garden, her unwilling to go indoors, him unwilling to leave - both unwilling to bid goodbye to the other.  So, they'd sat on the grass for hours, Lily in his arms, and they'd held each other and kissed, as if they were still teenagers at school instead of being on the verge of marrying and becoming parents themselves.

It was gone midnight when they heard David locking up, and although he hadn't appeared outside to summon them indoors, they'd both stood in acknowledgement that it was time for Severus to leave.  They'd moved towards the back door, hand-in-hand, but when she turned to go inside, Severus pulled her back towards him, and pressed her against the brickwork - and when they spent another ten minutes making out, David snapped off the outside light, and they could hear the living room door bang as he made his way through the house, his patience with the pair evidently having run out.

Once she was in the house, the door locked behind her, Severus finally left - but not without one last look of longing towards her bedroom window.  Then, with a swirl of his robes and an angry crack of Disapparation, he'd headed to Hogsmeade, intent on sniffing out Fletcher in order to set his and Lucius' plan into action.  

Severus didn't get far, as he ran into Avery and Mulciber instead, who were celebrating something - although he didn't find out what precisely, as their inebriation was so advanced.  He found himself being dragged from bar to bar, his glass filled over and over, and with no sign of Fletcher anywhere, he sat back and watched the odd power play between his old housemates - with Avery keen to enthuse about their friendship, seemingly in an effort to make Mulciber jealous, or envious, or some other emotion that Severus couldn't quite fathom through the haze of the unending delivery of beer from the bar to their table.  By the time he shook Mulciber's hand and awkwardly hugged Avery farewell, and finally slid between his sheets at Hogwarts, it was almost time to get up.

"May I?" he asks, pointing at the discarded Prophet in front of Slughorn, whilst waving his wand to fill his mug with strongly brewed coffee.  

"If you're looking for news about Crouch," Slughorn says as he passes him the paper, "it's not good, I'm afraid."

Severus stares in confusion at the front page, expecting to see Barty's face, but instead he's greeted by a waving Fudge outside the Muggle Houses of Parliament, with what appears to be two aurors whispering a fair distance behind him.  He peers more closely at the page, and it looks like it could be Vance or Bones, or both, or neither - and he finds himself squinting, desperate to see who the two figures could be.  "No word on Barty then?"

Slughorn reaches over and takes the newspaper back, flicking through the pages until he reaches page 18, and then he hands it back.  "There."

"Page 18?  I thought this was big news?"

"So did we all," Slughorn murmurs.

Severus scours the page, his hands trembling - _we've got away with it_ \- as he takes in the details of the conviction.  "They've done it," he says, feeling a little sick.  "They've Kissed him.  I didn't realise they could move so quickly."

"They can't.  Well, they couldn't," Slughorn corrects himself.  He lowers his voice.  "I believe there were failed efforts to mount a defence-"

"-from who?  You mean from who Barty was working for, from He-Who-Must-"

Slughorn sharply shakes his head, his moustache quivering as he does so.  "No."  He winces.  "If he was working for…" and Slughorn takes a sip of his tea so he doesn't have to say the name, "I'm afraid he didn't come to his defence."

"Then who?"

"The Potters."

Severus can't help the small scoff that escapes his lips, but he tries - rather unsuccessfully - to cover it with a cough.  "Potter defended a Slytherin?  Why?"

"A pursuit of justice, I believe."  Slughorn reaches for the paper, flicking back over to the front page, and then he passes it back, tapping a thick finger against a paragraph near the foot of the page.  "And now this."

Severus' heart skips as he sees the emergency amendment tabled by the Lestrange family.  "Fast track retribution?"  He lowers the newspaper to the table.  "I don't understand."

"There have been incidents which threaten law and order.  Not just in our world."

_Strikers_.

"So?  What does this mean?  Why is the Minister seeing the Muggles?"

"It's thought that they need our assistance and to get such legislation - emergency legislation to assist non-magical persons in times of need - through our own Ministry, they must first prove that our system is a success."  Slughorn pauses, letting the words sink in.

"...are you serious?  You think Fudge intends to exert magical control over the Muggles?  And this with Crouch is his proof that he has absolute power in our world?"

"What better way to control society," Slughorn murmurs, "than to remove any chance at justice?  You tell ordinary people that if they are law-abiding, they have nothing to fear, that the aurors and the Ministry are simply taking a hardline against criminals-"

"I don't understand why this proposal has come from the Lestranges," Severus interrupts, his voice low.  "Why would they introduce such an amendment?  Why would they want the likes of Moody and Bones and the rest of the aurors to have this sort of power over anyone arrested?  What if Rabastan or Rodolphus were-"

Slughorn shakes his head sternly, as if he's fearful that either of the brothers will emerge from beneath the table.  "I do hope you are not suggesting that such a well established magical family as the Lestranges behaves in a way that is contrary to the laws of our land."

Severus scoffs.  "No, sir, of course not, sir."  

"The Potters and the Lestranges have long been enemies," Slughorn says, softly.  "It is perhaps no wonder that the elder Lestranges would take offence at a youth trying to subvert the Ministry decision."

Severus gives him a disdainful look.  "Believe me, I have no love for Potter-"

Slughorn gives a tight smile.  "Of that I am aware-"

"-but if Barty hasn't had a proper trial, how can that be subverting anything?  That law, that amendment, that's all about gaining power over the Muggles, isn't it?  The first sign of dissent and-"

"I would drop this topic, Severus."

"But what if someone is falsely accused, and the Ministry punishes them in such a way, and-"

"-and what?  Are you suggesting that you have evidence that Crouch did not do these things, Severus?"

"...no, sir.  Theoretically speaking, sir."

"Then theoretically, this is justice for all," Slughorn says, eyeing him curiously.  "The article explains it further."

Severus turns the page, and traces the printed text with his forefinger and he starts to read aloud, "Whilst we recognise that these proposals will not be suitable in all cases, we recommend that swift action should always be taken when dealing with the known underclass - criminals, halfbreeds, and those unworthy - to preserve the rights of those with legitimate claim to our world."  He trails off, looking disgusted.  "Does that sound as if it's for all, sir?  Classing real wizarding convicts alongside creatures and those with little or stolen magic, as if they're the same-"

Slughorn twitches, and drops his fork on his plate with a loud clatter.  "It sounds to me as if you should take care with your words, Severus," he says, sternly, his eyes narrowing.  He stands whilst he drains the last of his tea, the conversation clearly over.

"I was merely reading out what the newspaper has written!" Severus argues, fury building in him.  "And that's what it means, and I don't understand how the son of a minister can be Kissed when his blood and his magic is pure!"

Slughorn stops, and leans over, his bulk casting a shadow over Severus' coffee.  "Now forgive me, Severus," he mutters, his voice low, "but after your stint with Borage, you fall into that exact group, do you not?  The criminals, the halfbreeds, and those unworthy?"  

Severus swallows hard.  "...sir."

"Then believe me, you would be well advised to keep your mouth shut, and your head down.  I realise that he was a friend of yours," he says, not unsympathetically, "and this apparent injustice may be difficult for you to reconcile, but you must remember that you are not responsible for what happens to young Barty."  He grips Severus' shoulder, a sad smile flickering across his features.  "It is noble that you intend to fight for what you believe to be right, but for your own sake, I warn you that this is a battle you are best keeping out of.  The system will right itself eventually.  It has done so before, and it will do so again."  

"I understand."

There's a long pause, as if Slughorn's deliberating, and then Slughorn releases his shoulder.  "And Severus..."

"Yes, sir?"

"Did you go out drinking last night?"

Severus glances up, surprised at having been caught out.  He subtly sniffs at his robes, wondering if the aroma of alcohol has lingered.   _Or maybe my eyes are bloodshot_ , he thinks, realising he'd barely had chance to get dressed, let alone look in the mirror.

"You should take care when drinking in public," Slughorn advises, his voice low.  "I think it would be wise for you to study alone today, and keep your thoughts to yourself."

* * *

If his head wasn't filled with fears about Abraxas and Lucius and Rabastan, or Lily and Cissy and Bean, Severus might have paid more attention to the warning signs in Slughorn's breakfast outburst.  If he'd had a little more sleep, and a little less alcohol raging through his system, he might've even remembered that despite Slughorn's explicit instruction that _Severus_ should remain hidden, Lily should still be brewing.  

But Severus was distracted, the article in the Prophet filling his head further with thoughts about Crouch and he suddenly wonders if that's what Avery and Mulciber were celebrating; the passing of a law tabled by Rodolphus or Rabastan or even Bellatrix, or their parents.  He still can't fathom it, but he tries to shake away the thoughts, trying to focus on what he's meant to be doing.  He reaches his rooms, and he sees the pile of books on the desk, and whilst it would normally excite him to have a free day to study, the stress of the Abraxas situation is eating away at him.

Instead, he strips off and heads for the shower.  He drops the hastily applied glamour from around his neck as he steps under the spray, and he flexes his forearm experimentally, wondering if he could hide the ugly scarring - although it is now faint and pale - from his view day-to-day, or whether the Dark Lord would be able to tell if there was a spell layered over the top.

He dismisses the thought and as the water pounds his skin, he decides that he isn't going to study as Slughorn has instructed - but he's going to brew.  He's going to ensure that his potion is perfect for delivery, and once the school day is over, he can hit the streets of Hogsmeade until he finds Fletcher, and can set his and Lucius' plot in motion.  

_And then I won't have to fret about it any longer_.  

Decision made, he moves quickly, drying and dressing, and heading for his cauldron - and he's barely fifty minutes in to the intricate brewing process when there's a sharp rap on the door, and Slughorn throws the door back, marching in without waiting to be invited.

"And is this what you call studying, Severus?  With cauldron in hand, and not a book to be seen?"

"...no, sir."

"And where is she?"

Severus pauses, and casts at the cauldron to keep the potion stable, wiping his hands on a cloth.  "Sir?"

"Don't toy with me, Severus!" Slughorn steps further into Severus' rooms, causing Severus to cast again at the potion, this time putting it under a stasis spell.  He's unable to do anything to stop Slughorn's movements - unable to do anything other than follow as the older man checks the living area he and Lily once called home.  

"She's not here, is she?" Slughorn says, his voice louder, as he marches back and forth, each heavy step filled with anger - and it's now that Severus realises that Lily's feminine touch has long since departed, and the rooms now carry an unmistakable air of a young man's bachelor pad.

"She only left this morning."  It's a terrible lie, and he can't meet Slughorn's eye when he says it.

Slughorn scoffs.  "This morning?  Would that be after you compared her to a creature?"

Severus stills, a slight twitch flickering in his eye.  "I did what?"

"Do you drink in Diagon, or Knockturn, or Hogsmeade often, Severus?  Is this how this has come about?"  

"How what has come about?"

Slughorn's eyes narrow further.  "Your _split_.  Your break up!  How long have you been pretending to be her?  All that nonsense you kept feeding me, telling me that you were keen to fill holes in your theoretical knowledge - telling me that Borage and Jigger didn't give you opportunity to study, begging me for time before I seconded you out to Belby, and now, now I find out this!"  Slughorn's full cheeks are pink with rage, and spittle flies from behind his moustache as he rants.  "Now I find _you've_ been standing next to me, not a vial of Polyjuice in sight, brewing first year potions that you can likely do blindfolded with your hands cuffed behind your back!  I trusted you - I trusted you both, and-"  

"She's gone to visit her parents," he interrupts, loudly, and he's gratified when his words cause Slughorn to stop pacing.  "That's all.  Just today."  He fumbles his way around the lie, trying to come up with a credible story - and then he thinks to touch his neck, drawing attention to his bruises.  "We had a _fun_ day yesterday," he says, lingering over the words and deliberately stroking beneath his chin and down his Adam's apple, pleased when Slughorn notices the fresh lovebites on his neck, "and then she wanted to study, so I went out and got a bit drunk and…"  He shrugs, not insincerely.  He can't think of anything else to say - can't think how to elaborate on his fake tale.  "I can't remember much else."  Severus watches the older man keenly, and when Slughorn's shoulders sag, Severus silently congratulates himself on the right choice of words.

"...so you did suggest she was lesser?"  Slughorn prompts, inhaling deeply.  

"I don't know," Severus says, softly.  "I can't remember."

"And this was your first time out in a while?"

Severus nods, dumbly.  "Sir.  I mostly drink here, if I drink at all.  I've been trying not to of late."  When Slughorn nods, Severus is suddenly grateful for Jigger's insinuation of an addiction, lending his story a credibility it wouldn't otherwise have.

"The bars…"  Slughorn looks pained.  "You mustn't repeat this, Severus, but the bars - their alcohol, it's tainted.  It causes you to...suggest political allegiances you do not have."

_I know_.

He doesn't say as much.  Instead, Severus does his best to school his features into a shocked expression, his eyes wide and his eyebrows raised.  He doesn't tell Slughorn that he took a potion before he started to drink, doesn't tell Slughorn that he's been wary of drinks ever since his teenage years, ever since he saw what happened to Malf, doesn't tell Slughorn that the Imperatum can't have taken effect - not with him, and that his words were his own.  "What did I say?"

"Sorry?"

"...to you," Severus says, slowly, as if he's struggling with the idea of him espousing views which are not his own.  "What did I say to you that made you realise I'd been affected?"

"You compared those of Lily's heritage to creatures," Slughorn says, looking uneasy, "and suggested that neither those with lesser blood, or those with mixed heritage - part giant, part troll, part elf, part goblin - are the same as real magical people.  Like Hagrid, Severus.  And that magical criminals - no matter their misdemeanour - remain superior to those who have little magic or who _steal_ their magic, like our colleague Mr Filch, or perhaps even Lily herself-"

Severus holds up his hand, willing Slughorn to stop - to stop him from repeating his words with such disdain and disgust.  Thankfully, Slughorn seems grateful for the reprieve, and takes Severus' sickened look as contrition.  The rest of the conversation is a blur, with Slughorn talking about potions and radios and keeping out of trouble and apologising and winning her back, and then the door slams, and he's gone, and Severus returns his attention back to his bubbling cauldron.

He yanks the ruined brew from the flame, and tips the contents of the cauldron down the sink, banishing it to the corner of the room with a clatter.  He summons a fresh cauldron, collects a new set of ingredients, and starts to chop with fury.  

_I'd never say Lily stole her magic_ , he thinks, _or that she's unworthy_.  His knife slices through piles of bowtruckles, paring their lean limbs from torso before slatting them into a pile, readying them for grinding.   _She's too powerful for that.  Muggles are unworthy.  Squibs are unworthy.  Filch is unworthy, scrubbing the floors by hand, and Hagrid.  Hagrid!  He started school and got kicked out because he wasn't powerful enough.  It's right that people think they're unworthy.  They're not talking about witches like Lil.  She didn't steal it.  Couldn't steal magic that powerful.  There's squib blood somewhere, and the genetics have missed a generation or two.  On both sides of the family, probably,_ he reasons, throwing a handful of bowtruckle heads and stomachs into the mortar and pressing down hard with the pestle, mashing them into a paste.  

_If David and Rose both had squib blood, then that's probably why they were drawn to each other in the first place - and those bits of genetics didn't mix with Petunia which is why she isn't magical at all, but Lil got the full force of both squibs._ He looks pleased when he scrapes the paste out onto his workbench, and picks up another handful, starting the process again.   _I'm not wrong_ , he thinks, banging the pestle into the mortar and rocking it from side to side, _squibs and giants don't have proper magic - they can't have proper magic.  Everyone says so.  It's basic biology, like Avery said - like mules being infertile._   Then he scrapes the contents of his mortar onto the workbench, and then he levitates the grounds into the cauldron with his wand.   _And Muggles aren't worthy_ , he thinks, stirring his potion, and giving a beaming satisfied smile when the colour starts to change.   _I've created and adapted this potion, and Lily's modified the Polyjuice and brewed the Wolfsbane over and over, and_ _I don't see Johnny Davies and his dunderheaded lads or the magistrates in that court or those police or Da doing anything like this._

_No.  They're just not special.  Not like us._


	74. His choice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a very minor name change in this chapter. In an earlier chapter, David's friend wrote to Lily and offered her a job. David's friend was called John, but that's far too many characters called John for my liking - so I've edited it to Brian. I thought I'd confess, as there's nothing more annoying than a change mid-read!

They visit the Manor again, but this time, Severus' stay is short and Lucius is nowhere to be seen.  "He's in his study," Narcissa tells her, but Lily has no way of knowing if this is truthful or not, for the door remains solidly closed.  

She doesn't know where Severus is heading, and whether it's with Lucius or without, and she doesn't dare ask - not under this roof, not with the portraits so keenly listening.  Severus kisses her as he leaves, but he barely glances at Narcissa or the baby, and as Lily watches him stride down the path towards the gate before disappearing in a sudden swirl of magic, she half wonders if this is the life she's carving for herself; of the forgotten witch, dismissed and left behind with babe-in-arms.

Not that Narcissa seems dissatisfied with such a situation.  She wraps Draco in blankets, and holds her wand aloft, spiralling innocent colourful charms from the tip, causing her son to watch, open-mouthed, at the sight, gurgling with joy.  

"Can he see those?"

Narcissa turns, a small smile on her face.  "I believe so," she says, "if I keep the casting close and the shapes simple."  She waves her wand again, and another shower of sparks fills the air, twirling majestically before fading away.  "I've been doing it for the past few days, and he seems entranced," she says, dropping a gentle kiss on Draco's tiny forehead.  "I can show you, if you wish."

"Thank you."

Narcissa casts once more, causing Draco to wriggle in excitement, his tiny hands reaching up towards the swirling lights, and then she stows her wand in her sleeve before turning back to Lily.  "Do you know yet?"

"I'm sorry?"

"We knew," she says, shifting Draco's weight in her arms, "but then, it was an inevitability."  At Lily's confused look, Narcissa smiles kindly.  "Whether Severus' child will be a son, as Lucius' was?"

Lily can't help frown at her statement.  " _Our_ child," she corrects.  "No, we don't know."

There's a brief moment when Narcissa's smile fades, but she quickly rectifies it - although the replacement is an insincere curl of her lip instead of her usual genuine smile when in Lily's company.  "It is the magical parent who takes precedence," she says, quietly.  "This is Lucius' son," she affirms, "and you are carrying Severus' child."

"Not yours?" Lily asks, trying not to bristle at the inferred slur.

"The Black family history is long and sacred," Narcissa says, quietly, "but the Malfoy lineage predates us by a decade."  There's a pause.  "Or a century.  Or both.  I forget.  It's hardly important, but Lucius could fill you in on the detail if you were interested."  

 _I'm sure he could_ , she thinks, ignoring the urge to roll her eyes.  She can imagine Lucius enjoying lording his unearned status over others - not just her and Severus, but Narcissa as well - as if he himself was personally responsible for the undiluted history of the Malfoy name.

Instead, she simply shakes her head.  "I am happy to believe you."  She glances over at the tiny boy curled in Narcissa's arms.  "You always knew then?  You were tested, or-"

"-the Malfoy line is male only," she says, quietly.  "One boy."  At this, Narcissa's smile falls, and then there's another quirk of her lips.  "It's how it's always been."

"I'm so sorry," Lily says, quickly, thinking of Severus' murmured desires - of his wishes for a large family.

Narcissa pulls the blanket a little more tightly around Draco.  "Don't be.  I've always known."  And then she looks up, a fixed insincere smile plastered across her face.  "It could make each moment with him especially sad, knowing that I won't ever experience this again," she says, "but then, some parents are in the same situation, but they don't know, do they?  They don't know that this is the only opportunity they'll have - don't know that they should cherish it, for it can never be revisited.  At least I know."

Lily doesn't know how to respond to that - doesn't know whether to applaud Narcissa for her pragmatism; for her acceptance of her situation, for her desire to live in the moment, or whether to hug her, to hold her, to soothe her for her loss.   _Is it even a loss_ , Lily thinks, _if she's always known it's something she can never have?_

She wonders then, about herself - about Severus, and their child.  She thinks about her parents, and how they had two children - herself and Petunia - and she wonders if Severus being the only offspring of Tobias and Eileen means anything, or whether it's coincidence.  

"Don't pity me," Narcissa says, her voice soft and low, but not threatening.  "I've always known that this is what marriage to Lucius meant.  He hardly hid it from me.  Our families have associated for generations, and I have always known what fate would befall any Mrs Malfoy - long before my marriage to him was on the horizon.  His father was the same before him, and little Draco here will one day follow suit."  

She wonders if Severus is capable of having more, or whether Bean might be their - _his_ \- only child, and how he'd react if that was true - and then Lily can't help but wonder if it's kinder to know - to know that you will successfully bear a child, a son, but that he'll be the only one.  To know that there'll be no daughters - never a chance that your child will look exactly like you as you did at that age.  

Lily thinks once more back to Severus and Eileen, and she wonders if that's what Eileen feared when she gave birth to a son, whether she was concerned about not seeing her offspring in her own image.  In Severus' case, he looked so much like his mother when he was small - before testosterone built his shoulders and elongated his fingers, before he developed his father's deep voice, and his father's body hair, and his father's hooked nose.

It's easy to imagine a girl - _Jasmine_ \- with her own dainty features, with a shock of auburn hair, but then she tries to imagine a girl with Severus' dark features, and all she can see is Eileen.  It's easier for Lily to imagine a boy in the mould of Severus - like father like son, but perhaps a boy - _Evan_ \- would take after her, with bright green eyes instead.

 _Maybe we'll have both_ , she thinks.   _Or if Severus gets his way, all four_.  The thought is fleeting, as Narcissa's words swirl in her mind, and Lily considers the idea that she and Severus might already be condemned to having a single child - an inevitability that neither of them are yet aware of, a curse of a magical lineage that they both know so little about, or whether they might yet have the family that Severus so dreams of.

 _That Severus so dreams of_ , she thinks, her palm pressing against Bean, unsure of whether she has the desire herself to go through all of this again.  

* * *

The visit is over too quickly for her liking.  She never sets eyes on Lucius, and she's long asleep when Severus finally slides into the bed beside her, his hands and feet cold, and his breath smelling of alcohol.  He says little about where he's been or about anything at all, but he takes her in the morning, or she takes him - she can't really tell which of them is seducing the other these days, with his reverential treatment of her, and her hormones screaming - but she appreciates the look of wonder on his thin face when she begs him for more, begs him to move faster and harder and he grips her hair at the base of her neck, and he hisses in her ear, and his teeth bite her lip.  

And then he laughs as her eyes roll into the back of her head as she vocalises her pleasure - and it's a happy laugh.  It's a laugh that builds from a gentle rumble in his chest until it peaks into peals of amusement, his naked body pressed firmly against her own, skin-to-skin, soul-to-soul, and as she stares into his dark eyes, a joyful smile playing on his pink lips, all she can see is his innocence.  She sees that spirited boy she met at the park, she sees the trembling teenager who claimed her as his own on his creaking bed, she sees the hopeful young adult who punched the air when he received the piece of parchment through owl post telling him that he was to be assigned to Master Borage as an apprentice, and she can't reconcile it - she can't imagine him, _Severus_ , the father of her unborn baby and the man she loves so desperately, coldly and clinically ending the life of another.  

* * *

He takes her back to Cokeworth and then he departs.  Her parents' house seems grey and dull in comparison to the opulence of the Manor, but the three of them - Lily, her mother, and her father - make small talk all afternoon, right up until David decides to mow the lawn.  Lily sits on a deckchair and watches as he heaves the rusted machinery from the garage, roughly battling with it - scratching his head, and holding his hands on his hips - before she can take it no longer, and she silently casts with a wave of her hand, causing the engine of the mower to burst to life with a roar.  Her father steps back in surprise, but the smile on his lips reassures Lily that she made the right choice by intervening.  

The noise from the mower soon irritates her, and by Bean's sudden movements, it's irritating her child as well.  It takes Lily far longer than she'd like to admit to lift herself from the low seat, but she finally turns to head back into the kitchen when her mother grabs her elbow, squeezing the skin tightly, and Lily jumps, clasping her hand to her chest.  

"Merlin, Mummy, you nearly made me go into labour," she laughs - but her mirth is short lived when her mother ushers her quickly through the house, into the front room, and far out of the earshot of her father - not that he could've heard them over the noise of the mower.  "What?  What's going on?"

"What's he done?" Rose asks, perching on the arm of the chair, and indicating that Lily should sit down on the sofa.

"What's who done?  Daddy with the mower?  It wouldn't start, and-"

Rose shakes her head.  "Don't be cute, Lily.  We're going to talk about this now," she says, firmly, "whilst your father's busy.  Else we can have this conversation with him here.  Would you prefer that?"

"No," Lily says, reluctantly, "but you're always so quick to assume Sev's done something, that he deserves what's happening to him…"  She trails off, wringing her hands.

"And what's that then?"  Rose glances anxiously towards the window at the back of the house.  "Lily, please be honest with me.  What's he done?"

"He hasn't done anything."

"Then what's happening to him?"

"He owes someone."

Rose straightens, and nods, content to have discovered a problem with a simple resolution.  "Your father will lend him whatever money he requires and I know what you're going to say, that Severus won't take it, but we can convince him-"

"It's not money, he doesn't owe them money.  They don't need money."  Lily drops her head, hot tears springing from the edge of her eyes.  "Mummy, you don't understand.  He isn't bad - he's doing this for me.  For us, so we could be together.  But now..."

Rose moves quickly, kneeling by her daughter's side, and stroking her hair away from her face.  "But now?"  She stares at Lily, trying to read the upset on her face.  "But now what, Lily?  Are you trying to say that you don't want to be with him anymore?  If he's not right for you, we can help, your father and I-"

"I do!" she interrupts, her tears coming harder.  "I do want to be with him, but he's…  Mummy, if he's caught, it's all my fault."  

Rose wraps her arms around her sobbing daughter, and kisses the side of her forehead.  "Severus' choices are not your fault," she says.  "You've told him you don't want him to do whatever this is?"

Lily sobs even more loudly.  "Not in so many words."  She inhales, her breathing jagged.  "He hasn't got any other options."

"There are always options," Rose says, firmly, "and you, young lady, are not going back there with him."

"Mummy!"

"I'll ask your father to speak to Brian."  At Lily's look of confusion, Rose squeezes her hand.  "Your father's friend, the one who offered you the job.  You remember?  We'll see if he'll send some work over early, so you can dip your toe into the water," she says, her tone brooking no argument, "and it'll give you something to take your mind off all of this.  Then when you've had the baby, your father and I will help, and you can go to work.  You'll be able to get yourself a proper career, without any of this blood nonsense that's been holding you back."

"...and how does Sev fit into your fantastic plan?"  Lily folds her arms stubbornly.  "I'm not leaving him."

"You can tell him that his girlfriend and his child are here, and he's welcome to visit at anytime."  Her mother leans back from her daughter's standoffish stance.  "I understand his reluctance to return to Cokeworth, but his probation won't last forever.  He doesn't even have to wait for it to be over, there's nothing stopping him from returning home and keeping out of trouble."

"It's not like he goes looking for it, trouble just finds him," Lily argues, "like that with the shop - he hadn't done anything!" 

Rose looks horrified.  "Hadn't done anything?  He was covered in blood!"

"He hadn't hurt anyone!  It was his own!"

"Severus needs to grow up, get himself a proper job, and start behaving responsibly.  He doesn't need _magic_ to do that.  It's all very laudable that he says he wants to look after you - well, you can tell him that he can do that here!  With us to support you both." 

Lily looks at her mother, tears openly falling down her cheeks.  "He'll never live like a Muggle.  He just won't do it."

"Then that is his decision."

"No, Mummy, you don't understand!  It's like living with your arms tied behind your back, not using magic, and it's not just him, what about me, what about if I don't want to live without magic, what if-"

"I don't see the problem," Rose interjects, coldly, "his mother has managed all of these years."

"His mother is the reason he doesn't want to stay in your world!"  

" _Our_ world," Rose argues, loudly.  "He has options, Lily, and you shouldn't pretend otherwise.  If he wants you and your child-"

"He does!"

"-then he will make the decision that is the safest for his family."  Rose purses her lips.  "I didn't bring you up to be a sacrificial lamb for some boy-"

"Severus is not just some boy!"

"Yes well, if he's as serious about you as you are about him, then it shouldn't just be you that's making all of the sacrifices, Lily!"  Rose shakes her head when Lily opens her mouth to argue.  "No, you listen to me, you've told us that you can't live freely in that magical world of yours - but you'd have a chance of a life here!  You and your child, you'd be safe here, with us!"  

Lily stands, wiping the tears away from her eyes.  "But it's not just me and my child, Mummy.  It's me and Severus and _our_ child," she says, shakily, trying desperately to forget Narcissa's words, ignoring the fact that in the magical world the exact opposite of her mother's words would be true - that their child would be seen solely as Severus' heir.

 _Bean is ours_ , she thinks, fiercely.   _Both of us.  Together._

Registering the look of horror on Lily's face, Rose softens.  "I've already said that Severus is welcome here too, Lily.  If he wants.  It's his choice."

* * *

They've been kneeling for what feels like hours, their heads bowed.  Avery's to his left, Reggie Black to his right - and he's certain Lucius is somewhere near the front, his reputation restored once more.  It's a big room - bigger than usual - and there's space to walk between the rows.  He can't see much with his hood blocking his peripheral vision, but he can sense when someone approaches - the clatter of their boots, the swish of their robes, the smell of either clean fabric, or mud, or blood, or worse - and then they've passed, in a blink-and-you'll-miss-it moment, and he's back to staring at the same section of mosaic floor.  

He's been staring at the intricate pattern for so long, it's almost hypnotic.  His kneecaps ache, and his neck's stiff, and he's got pins and needles in his feet - but apart from the steady in-and-out of breath, and the rhythmic footsteps building and fading like the rush of the sea, the room is silent, so he doesn't dare move.

"Three more," announces the Dark Lord, and there's a sudden exhalation - as if the group of hundreds is as one.  "Him, and her, and," and then he pauses, and the footsteps grow louder, and then Severus almost leaps up in surprise when he feels the Dark Lord's long cold fingers through the hood covering the back of his head, "this one."

Severus stands, grimacing as his numb feet try to find purchase on the ornate tiled floor, his gaze firmly fixed on the swirling pattern beneath his boots, not daring to look up - not until the Dark Lord places a long finger beneath his chin and firmly tilts Severus' head upwards.  

"Come," he says, and Severus obediently follows his master, his footsteps loud on the tile.


	75. Don't get caught

Following their argument, they haven't spoken for three days, which has made mealtimes desperately awkward - but she's spent the rest of the time in her bedroom, obstinately and deliberately re-reading every magical book Severus left for her, her hand ghosting over Bean.  

 _It isn't as simple as Mummy thinks_.   _It's not just me, and it's not just Severus, but it's you as well, little one_ , she thinks, her hand spiralling in Bean's thrum of magic.   _How can we keep you from the magical world?  We can't - you'll have to go in eventually, to Hogwarts, and then what if you stayed, without us?_

She breathes in deeply, the thought of her unborn child leaving her causing her heart to clench - and then she can't help but wonder whether this is what's at the root of her mother's sudden fury; that she doesn't want to wave her child off once more, and certainly not with her only grandchild in tow.

* * *

He tries not to laugh when he sees some of the combinations of clothing the others are wearing - jeans and ties, sharp shirts with denim jackets, sandals and overcoats.  

"You won't pass," he says, zipping up the thin anorak he's pulled over his faded t-shirt.  

"They're only Muggles," Bellatrix sneers, disdainfully.

"They're lacking magic, not eyes," he spits back, tossing a blouse from the pile of clothes towards her.  "That with a skirt," he says, rummaging in the pile, "or this dress.  But not that abominable combination you're currently wearing."  He turns to the wizard beside him.  "And you, take that snorkel off!"

Rodolphus laughs from the far side of the room, and when the others don't move, he claps his hands loudly.  "Well, do as the runt says," he shouts, "what's the point in having a Muggle infested halfbreed with us unless he's of use?  Listen to him, and get changed!"

Severus' head jerks at the slurs, his cheeks colouring slightly, but then he peevishly kicks at the youth sat on the floor in front of him, his boot connecting squarely with the small of his back.  "Go on, what are you waiting for?  You heard Dolph!" 

* * *

Lily breaks her silence when her father calls her down to the dining room, and spreads the papers across the table.  He sits with her whilst they work through Brian's instructions, and she finds herself relaxing, losing herself in the work.  It's more interesting than she thought it would be - policies and amendments, legislation and research - and as she sorts the files, she finds herself drawn into the content.

"How long has he been doing this?"

"Brian?"  David shrugs.  "Ever since he took his pension from the civil service.  Three years, I think.  When you were still at Hogwarts."

She laughs, taking in the mountain of paper.  "He didn't want to rest, and take holidays by the sea, or potter about in his garden?"

"Early retirement does that for you.  Leaves you full of energy."  David pauses, flicking a pen restlessly between his fingers.  "...it's a good job, Lily, the civil service."

"Daddy…"

David smiles, and stops the pen, holding his hands aloft in mock surrender.  "I'm only saying.  Think of it as an option."

After her mother's rant, she's sick of hearing about options, and she can't help the acid retort that leaps from her tongue.  "An option for me, but not for Severus?"

Her father doesn't rise to the bait, his tone even.  "Not as a convict, I wouldn't imagine.  It does rather restrict your life choices."

She wishes now she hadn't said it.  She wants to start the argument, wants to point out that this is why they were moving to the magical world - that Severus has options in the magical world that he won't have in Cokeworth.  She wants to shout and scream, and try and make them see that he's intelligent and worth more than what he'll amount to in the Muggle world.  She wants them to understand that if he comes back here, with his record and his name and his reputation, he'll end up treading the same miserable path as his father - manual labour, followed by no labour, and then they'd end up like his parents.  

Or worse, knowing Severus' hot temper - he'd be goaded into a fight or three, and he'd do something stupid, and he'd end up in court again, and then she'd really be in strife - the single mother of his babies, whether it's just Bean or more, as he'd suggested when they were last properly together.  It seems like a lifetime ago now, that night, lying together in the guest quarters at Malfoy Manor, surrounded in luxury - and her thoughts then weren't on Severus ending up in Muggle prison, leaving a large destitute family behind.  

She holds her tongue with all of it.  Partly because saying it will make her cry, and partly because prophesying Severus' failures in Cokeworth won't help her cause with her parents - and it most definitely won't if she suggests that he'll drag her down with him.  She takes a deep breath, and runs her hand soothingly over Bean - unsure whether the action is reassurance for her, or for their baby stirring uneasily inside her - and then she flips over the next page, her mind still racing.  

_Maybe we could wipe his records, like we did with my name on my medical charts.  Give him a fresh start._

* * *

Severus saunters into the auditorium, his hands stuffed in his anorak pockets.  He casually casts his eye over the crowd - there must be a thousand crammed into the school sports hall - and then makes his way over to an empty seat in the middle block of seats.  

There's an excited surge of chatter around him, and he exchanges pleasantries with the neighbours on either side - a jolly, thick-set man with a wispy moustache, and a woman who looks deceptively like Lily, which causes him to do a double-take.  

 _She doesn't look like Lily, you idiot.  You miss her so much, every woman looks like Lily at the moment_.  

When he turns back for a second look, he realises he's right - her hair's too short, and her freckles covering her nose are too dense in pattern - but then he's staring, and she smiles shyly at him, and he gives an awkward cough, relieved when the lights drop and the applause starts.

It's the fifth rally he's been to, and his staged interruptions trip off his tongue with ease - questioning the Dark Lord's political plan, nodding sagely and looking impressed when his master answers, and whooping and clapping and cheering whenever Yaxley signals they all should by shooting a thrill of pleasure through the mark.  He still doesn't much like the etching, doesn't like the idea of being branded, but the flurry of electricity that surges under his skin thrills him.  

He can't describe the feeling - it's not the white-hot intensity of an orgasm, but more akin to the pleasurable build up.  It's like the moment of anticipation he has when Lily sinks to the floor with a teasing smile on her face.  That excited feeling when she runs her tongue across her lips and unbuckles his belt, and he knows as she reverently unbuttons his trousers that he's her sole focus, the centre of her world, and she's on her knees ready to worship him.  

 _That_ is what it feels like, and it makes him want to throw his head back and groan with delight.  

This is the best rally they've done so far.  They're barely thirty minutes in and the whole crowd is up and cheering - the fat man is enthusiastically clapping beside him, the not-Lily woman is smiling at him, and he whistles and he whoops, caught up in the pleasurable sensations flooding through his arm, and the ecstatic atmosphere around him.

* * *

Severus sits in Dumbledore's office, all too aware of his unwashed state.  He's been wearing the same Muggle clothes for almost a week, casting freshening charms before each rally, and it didn't seem important to change.  Nobody has said anything to him - not that he knows many of the Dark Lord's followers who are taking part in the rallies; Bella and Dolph are the only two he can reliably identify, and having been outed as a halfbreed by Dolph, the others have chosen to barely speak to him, despite Severus having been hand-selected by the Dark Lord himself for this mission.  

 _Like their blood's any better_.   _Pure and none is better than half and half anyway,_ he thinks, bitterly.

But now he's away from the road, now he's no longer pretending to be an anonymous Muggle who is caught up with the exciting new political stance being offered, he feels dirty and grungy and entirely out of place, and he casts a freshening charm at his mouth just as Dumbledore strides in.

"Ah, Severus," he says, sweeping past him, giving Severus' outfit a curious once over.  "You have news for me?"

"Urgent news, sir."

"I had rather gathered that from your...unusual appearance.  Your absence in the Great Hall this week has not gone unnoticed.  I trust that all will back to normal shortly?"  Dumbledore picks up his quill, and when Severus doesn't react to his pointed comments, he waves his hand.  "Very well, Severus, proceed."

"He isn't just launching attacks," Severus warns, "but then promising to find the perpetrators immediately afterwards."

"Go on."

"We - the Strikers - do something.  Pressworthy.  Local, at the moment, not national, but if it continues…"  He pulls at his collar, looking uneasy.  "And then when the local community is whipped into a frenzy, he holds a rally nearby - a few towns over."

"A pincer movement?"

Severus nods.  "He destroys with one hand, and then promises retribution with the other.  He queries how it could happen, how our - _their_ \- politicians have turned their backs on them, how their police is powerless to help them."

"He promises them safety?"

"Safety.  Protection."  He picks the skin at the edge of his finger.  "He shows them what he can do - he offers them power, he…"

Dumbledore leans forward, his voice quiet but his eyes eager.  "He shows them what, Severus?"  

Severus swallows, and without being aware of his movement, idly scratches his forearm.  "He calls on us, his followers, as if we're ordinary Muggles in the crowd..."

"Yes?  And?"

"And he demonstrates the powers he's bestowed upon us because we've chosen to follow him.  He offers them - the Muggles - the same power, and a place by his side, if only they believe."

Dumbledore looks horrified.  "He offers them salvation."

* * *

It's Avery who calls on him, who trusts him.  He knows the others don't - not yet.  He's too new.   _Too Muggle_ , he thinks, sourly.  But Avery gives him opportunities that the others don't; they party and they drink, and Avery whispers words of temptation and evil in his ear, luring him into the darkness that he's been working so hard to avoid.  

It's not small anymore, not like when he first started - not when it was causing arguments in bars, or setting people up to fight.  It's bigger, more organised - it's about spreading fear and causing chaos, it's plotting to derail trains and start fires, and although there's always been a part of him that's happy to lash out, that wants to cause pain to those who've been complicit in hurting him, this change of tactics makes him uneasy.  They haven't hurt anyone yet, not seriously, but it's only a matter of time.  

He laughs his concerns off in Avery's company.  He helps Avery to prepare, helps him to organise - but inside, it makes him feel grey.  It's different, somehow.  Less personal.  He can understand a grudge, can understand sparring with a particular person, but these victims, they could be anyone - a child, a parent, a magical person in the wrong place at the wrong time, even.  These attacks are indiscriminate, and although he sits in the bar and he laughs, and he helps Avery to jot down notes, and he researches where to buy supplies from without alerting the Muggle authorities, Severus can't live with this new knowledge without doing something.

* * *

It's risky, meeting him here in broad daylight - but Dumbledore must've sensed the anguish in the garbled message he left with Aberforth, as he's standing on platform 3 at Leeds at 5.15pm, as promised.  Severus rolls his eyes when he strides towards him - _he could've worn something a little less conspicuous, something a little less fluorescent, something a little more...Muggle_.  

As he approaches, it's as if Dumbledore reads his thoughts.  "Don't worry, Severus," he says, holding his arm out, and as soon as Severus touches it, they spiral into a whirl of Disapparation, "we're not staying."

When they land, the wind is howling on the cliffs, and Severus' jacket is caught by the gale, throwing him off balance.  He reaches a hand out to steady himself, realising with alarm how close to the cliff edge and how high up above the sea they are - and when he looks back at the older wizard, Dumbledore is the epitome of serenity; his robes still, and his beard not moving.

"How are you doing that?"

"Focus," Dumbledore says.

As always, it's cryptic, and it means nothing, and Severus' frustration gets the better of him, his hair whipping painfully around his face.  "You couldn't think of somewhere else we could've gone?" he yells, struggling to make himself heard over the weather.

Dumbledore smiles, and shrugs.  "Forgive me, Severus, but you said you did not wish to be overheard."  He indicates to the barren landscape around them.  "I have no such fears here."

 _Wanker_.

"They're going to set fire to a shopping centre," he says, struggling against the elements to hand Dumbledore a scrap of paper with a hastily scribbled postcode on.  "I talked them out of the Saturday, which would've been carnage - but it'll happen on Tuesday.  Next Tuesday."  He looks earnestly at Dumbledore, who hasn't shown any reaction to the news.  "It'll kill people.  They're going to block some of the exits, and blame the management company, blame the council.  You need to do something - stop them, or contain it, or warn someone!"

Dumbledore nods and pockets the piece of paper.  "Very well."

Severus gives a short smile, relief flooding through him.  "Good.  Good!"

"This is excellent work, Severus," Dumbledore says, looking impressed.  "You must be trusted at the highest level."

"Not really.  Just Avery," he admits, "but when he gives me information like this, this is enough, yes?"

Dumbledore gives him another smile.  "Keep going," he says, "and whatever you do, whatever happens on Tuesday, remember, Severus, do not break cover."  

* * *

His knock is so distinctive, Lily knows it's him as soon as she hears the door, but Bean weighs her down, and her father is up and talking to him before she's even got to her feet.  She glances at her mother, her breath caught in her chest, wondering if the murmuring between the two men on the doorstep will cease, wondering what her mother has told her father, wondering if her father will even stand to one side and let him in, or if there'll be an almighty row instead.

"All right, love?"

Severus looks comfortable in a set of Muggle clothes that she's never seen before, an uncertain smile on his face - and she rushes over to him, and his smile solidifies and broadens.  She wraps her arms firmly around his waist, inhaling his scent, and clinging to him.  

"I've missed you," she says, tears prickling her eyes - and he looks aghast when he spies them, stroking them away from her face with his thumb.  

"I've missed you too, love," he says, kissing her chastely, and then holding her tightly to him.  "Are you both ok?"

She nods, her face pressed against his unfamiliar t-shirt.  "It's late, but dressed like this, you're not staying are you?"

"No."

She inhales, trying to dampen down her disappointment.  "You're here to collect Remus' potion, aren't you?"

"I can let him down if you haven't brewed it," he says, quickly.  "It's not a problem.  In fact, I'd quite like to see the look of disappointment on his face."

At his sharp words, she leads him by the hand, taking him away from the prying eyes of her well-meaning parents who seem concerned by his comments.  She slowly makes her way up the stairs to her bedroom where the potion is bottled and sitting on her bookcase, ready and waiting for delivery.  

He pockets it with a smile.  "I might pretend I haven't got it anyway."

"Sev, don't."

"No?  The thought of the look on the wolf's face is tempting," he grins.  

"Don't start wasting time and hanging around," she warns, concern filling her expression.  "Don't get caught."

"I'm joking," he says, brushing a strand of her hair from her eyes, and settling it behind her ear.  "I won't see him.  I've asked Dung to broker the full transaction for me the last few times.  I have absolutely no desire to have that wolf's filthy snout anywhere near me."  He kisses her.  "I won't get caught.  And speaking of which, don't you go to Cissy's this week.  In fact, don't go anywhere at all - stay here until I come for you."

He expects her to argue, or - at the very least - to quiz him as to why, but instead Lily takes a sharp intake of breath, steadying herself against the drawers.

"Lil?"  He's immediately holding her, his hands gripping her wrists tightly - too tightly.  "Lily, are you ok?"

"...you're going to do it, aren't you?"  As soon as the words leave her lips, she has her answer - she can already see the tell-tale bulge of the bottle in his other pocket: her brew for Lupin on the left, and Severus' brew for Rabastan on the right.  

"I've told you not to worry about this, love," he says, firmly, "what's done is done."  Then he kisses her again, as if seeking some form of forgiveness or reassurance, and as much as she wants to push him away, wants to scream some sense into him, she can't do it.  She can't bear to think of causing a fight at this moment when he's already poised to leave and unable to stay.  She can't risk him running into this dark situation recklessly, believing her not prepared to stand with him in the future - so, as much as it pains her to accept his intentions, she says nothing and welcomes his kiss instead.

As she holds him against her, she basks in the familiar pulse of his magic washing over her, and she can't help but fear that it's the last time she'll feel it.   She can't help but fear that this nefarious plot of Lucius' will finally kill off the spiral of untamed magic that has always drawn her towards her lover, and she can't help but fear that Severus' hand in Abraxas' demise might irreparably damage the boy that she loves so dearly.


	76. Concrete shoes

If he was a better man, he'd feel a pang of guilt - but Mundungus Fletcher is no such man. Mundungus Fletcher has been here before, and he knows what it takes to keep his head above water. Guilt has no practical purpose. Guilt is a pair of concrete soled shoes, and wearing them merely drags you beneath the undertow. 

Although it sent an anxious ripple through the magical community, Barty Crouch Jr's death has undoubtedly been good for business. It's not that Fletcher minds diversifying, not that he minds getting his hands dirty, but there was something about brokering - about _dealing_ \- that suited his specific talents. 

This has been the worst year since he's been in this game, the market stunted by punters affected by Imperatum - and to think, he'd held such high hopes for this year. Business had been booming, steadily growing ever since his forced change in brewer. He had initially been displeased when poor Arisean Nott was forced into early retirement, but young Severus Snape had been Merlin-sent - _Malfoy-sent_ , he laughs to himself. Not to speak ill of the injured, as Arisean's brews were more than adequate for his requirements, but there was a special _something_ about the boy's potions. 

Fletcher wasn't a regular user; he'd been in the game long enough to know that sampling the wares led to ruin, but whenever a new brewer crossed his path, he'd have a little taste. It's important to know your product - and there was something delightfully different about Snape's potions. They had an edge that Arisean Nott's didn't - a seductive quality that begged you to take a little more, an addictive thrill that started screaming as soon as the initial hit wore off: _again again again again_. 

As a broker, it was music to his ears, and the punters came to love it - happy to ignore their growing addictions, as long as the potions delivered the promise on the label. There was a lot to be said for consistency, for reliability, for quality. And for Fletcher? It meant punter loyalty. He had the market sewn up. It should've been a great year. 

He was richer than ever, Fletcher, when Miss Evans started pushing her equally delightful potions his way. She was even better than Snape. Not her brews, which were of equal quality, but she was pleasant. He liked her, as much as he liked anyone in this game. She was nicer and kinder and softer, and far easier on the eye. Oh yes, he liked dealing with Miss Evans - and not just for that pretty smile, but because there was no spectre of Malfoy, and no Malfoy meant a bigger - a _much_ bigger - cut. He wasn't greedy, Fletcher - least, not overly. It was a better deal for her too, a bigger cut, an equal share of the profits without the usual hangers-on. A marriage made in heaven, or so it seemed. 

There was something daring about Miss Evans. A recklessness that Snape didn't possess, but then, Snape was scared of Malfoy. Fletcher wasn't, and he had the sense that the lovely Miss Evans didn't care much for Malfoy either. He was a just another man, and for all his arrogance, Malfoy was barely out of short trousers - and Fletcher had seen a dozen Malfoys come and go in his time. It was a coveted position, king pin, but a dangerous one; there was always someone queuing up to knock the powerful from their pedestal, to take their place at the top of the food chain - and Malfoy's time would come, of that much, Fletcher was certain. 

She'd briefly changed the hierarchy, Miss Evans, with her disregard for the rules, and there was nothing Fletcher liked more than money in his pocket. Cutting Malfoy and his parasites out of the transactions had briefly been a boon - and then, like a house of cards, it had all come tumbling down. Malfoy was behind the fall, he was sure - it was too much of a coincidence that Snape dropped such a tantalising witch, and then she was found to be warming Malfoy's bed.

 _If you fuck me,_ went Malfoy's favourite phrase, _I'll fuck you_ \- and he'd evidently made good on his threat. It was at times like this that Fletcher was grateful he wasn't a woman; Miss Evans had apparently been on the receiving end of the most literal of interpretations - although, if the rumours surrounding Malfoy were true, perhaps he wasn't so safe after all. He'd retreated then, Fletcher, back to his favourite position in the shadows - important enough to make a profit, but insignificant enough to be overlooked. He didn't want to be next on Malfoy's fuck list, literally or otherwise.

It had all happened so fast, he hadn't paid much mind to the fact that Snape was brewing less and less. Fletcher still had some back stock at first - not much, Snape wasn't one for offloading huge quantities, but combined with the drop in demand, it was enough to briefly dull the impact of his brewer failing to deliver. Once his hands were empty, that's when it hit - boom to bust. Reduced to skimming a percentage of Snape's meagre deals was barely enough to scratch any sort of living - _"What more do you expect from me? I can hardly brew under Dumbledore's nose_ , _"_ Snape had protested, and Fletcher couldn't argue with the young wizard's logic. 

Fletcher doesn't like to think about those words, doesn't like to think about the lie that tripped so easily over the scrawny boy's tongue. Fletcher blamed himself, at least in part. He should've known better, should've known that he shouldn't trust the word of someone so young, so pliable, so easily manipulated, so in the pocket of Lucius Abraxas Malfoy. He'd nodded, Fletcher, like a dumb dog and accepted Snape's word - hadn't pushed him, hadn't pressed him for the truth. 

All the pieces had seemingly fit together, but only because he hadn't looked closely. The market had dwindled, and demand was down, so Snape's failure to supply hadn't really mattered. If there's no-one clamouring for the goods, it's somewhat of a relief not to be holding them. That's how you get caught. But the market hadn't dwindled. Demand wasn't down. He - Mundungus Fletcher - had been cut out.  _Unthinkable_. Fletcher simply hadn't realised how arrogant the boy had become until the deals came flooding back in - and for that piece of good fortune, he can thank Barty Crouch Jr. 

Fletcher briefly wonders if Snape feels guilt. He wonders how much of this subterfuge, this _sabotage_ was Snape's own invention, some sort of misguided retribution for his girl being stolen - Mudblood she may have been, but she was still miles out of Snape's league - and how much was Malfoy orchestrating in the background, pulling the puppet strings. Duplicitous, the pair of them. Fletcher can't help but wonder if Malfoy even knows of this change-of-heart, if he knows Fletcher is back in the fold, back where he belongs, or whether this is pure Severus Snape, driven by fear.

Because he _is_ fearful, Snape. Fletcher can tell. And not just of Malfoy. No, Snape meets with him, and he silently hands over his potions, but he barely lifts his ugly face from beneath that long curtain of hair, which seems to grow greasier and lanker by the day. He's terrified - terrified of being caught, terrified of going to Azkaban, terrified of being Kissed, just like Barty Crouch Jr - and there's a not so small part of Fletcher that hopes Snape's terrified of him too. 

He should be, because Fletcher holds all of his secrets. All, of course, but one.

 _Concrete shoes_ , Fletcher thinks.  _Concrete shoes_.

* * *

It's a blow, the knowledge that he's given such a significant cut of all of his deals back to Fletcher, but Severus knows it's worth it for the veneer of plausible deniability. After all, what better method of plausible deniability is there than deals being done without him - of Rabastan and Fletcher swapping goods and money - all whilst he, Severus, sits hundreds of miles away in the Great Hall at Hogwarts, sipping a cup of strongly brewed coffee and staring out at hundreds of students?

If Abraxas' potion comes directly from him, there's simply no denying it's his handiwork, but if it's passed through Fletcher's grubby mitts, then there's always the potential for it to have been modified along the way - to have been mixed up, to have been incorrectly allocated. 

Still, it doesn't make it any less galling, handing all of his hard-won deals over - and oh, how Fletcher's face lit up as he listed them; he could practically see the galleon sign in Fletcher's eyes - but giving him the Rabastan deal in isolation would've been far more suspicious, far too obvious, even to a minion like Fletcher.

If Severus was a better man, he'd feel a pang of guilt - for plausible deniability can only cover one man, and his cover is forcibly wrenched from Fletcher, who'll find himself exposed, and under scrutiny - but Severus Snape is no such man. 

 _Canis canem edit_ , he thinks.  _They won't be able to prove anything, can't pin it on Fletcher, not really. They might just shake him up a bit. And if it does come back to me? I could claim I provided it for personal use - a favour. I could claim that I didn't know it was going to be sold on - I didn't anticipate it appearing on the black market. I'd have tailored it specially, if only I had known._

Severus wonders how long he'll have to wait until the deed is done, how long he'll have to look over his shoulder. He's always been curious - nosey, his mother would say, _interfering_ \- and almost as soon as he drops the potion with Fletcher, he swears he can feel his fingers itching, desperate to put quill to parchment, desperate to seek Malf's reassurance - to hear the plan, to know the timeframe - but he knows that it's best that he's not privy to such information.

Ignorance should be the easy part. All he needs to do is keep his nerve, and as much as it goes against every instinct, he needs to stay out of the shadows - he needs to be seen amongst his colleagues at Hogwarts. He needs to ensure that he cannot be linked, no matter how tenuously, and most of all, he needs to have faith in the process; faith in Fletcher, faith in Rabastan, faith in Malf. He's done his bit - and now he must let the fates orchestrate without him. 

He's utterly lost in his thoughts, distracted, and almost as soon as he steps out of Knockturn Alley, Severus is grabbed from behind. 

The move is sudden and unexpected, but smooth - practised.  _An auror_ , Severus thinks, _not a Striker_. Severus' wand arm is wrested behind him, a tight grip pinning his wrist, and then thick fingers are wrapped around his neck, his face shoved painfully into the brickwork. 

Severus twists his neck, scraping his cheek against the bricks as he tries to see his captor. "Get off, I-"

"Shut up," the auror snarls, his wand jabbing into the exposed skin behind Severus' ear.

 _Moody_. 

"I haven't got-"

"Shut _up_ ," Moody stresses, using his wand to push Severus more firmly against the wall. He can't get any closer. The rough surface cuts harshly into Severus' skin, and Severus can feel the tell-tale trickle of blood on his cheek. "Funny looking robes you're wearing, boy." 

Severus doesn't answer. Daren't. He's rueing his decision to come here - _stupid_ \- especially after being cautious and meeting Fletcher in Muggle London. The cover of the Muggle world is a precaution that Severus doesn't take when supplying any other brew, but carrying Wolfsbane down Diagon Alley is a risk too far. Even with his record, he'd likely only get a slap on the wrist for anything plausible - Rain Away or Sundown or Night Rhythm. He might even get away with a few vials of Felix Felicis, or a small quantity of Polyjuice, but Wolfsbane's another matter entirely, and the mere thought of bottles in his cloak clinking and attracting the attention of a keen auror is enough to make him jittery.

To Fletcher's credit, although he rolled his eyes and grumbled under his breath when Severus first suggested the Muggle location all those weeks earlier, he never seems perturbed by the non-magical surroundings when the transfer is made.  _Beggars can't be choosers_ , Severus reasons, and with business so weak and such a healthy remuneration on offer - _it was solely Black's galleons paying Fletcher's cut, after all_ \- it shouldn't have been a surprise that Fletcher acquiesced to his unusual demand. 

No, in the Muggle world, Fletcher isn't uncomfortable. He's his usual self, and doesn't miss a beat. He handles the potion reverentially, rolling it between his palms, as if he's checking through the glass for defects in the liquid. There aren't any, there never are - no matter how tempting it might be to adjust it, to make the wolf's experience just that little bit more miserable - and although Severus doubts whether Fletcher could even tell a tampered potion from the real thing, his heart stalls until Fletcher finally pockets the potion, and the smirk on his lips is replaced by the promise of a purse full of galleons.

Severus wouldn't see Fletcher then, not for a week or three, not until the money was ready. He'd always been the same - _"Never contaminate a drop,"_ he'd say, _"potions and payment do not mix."_ His stance made sense - if an auror intervened, it was difficult to make the charges stick.  _"This, guv'nor? No, this is for personal use. My friend here? I just ran into him as he was out for a stroll; he's got nothing on him at all."_ It had a tinge of plausibility to it, a veneer of legitimacy - even if Severus was certain that Fletcher was investing the funds on the side, and that was the real cause for delay. 

Such caution, such forethought - that's what made Fletcher such a good broker. With brewing and other pressures, Snape couldn't make the same sacrifices with his time - couldn't arrange to meet over and over and over, a vial here, a galleon there, a bottle here, a coin bag there. He hadn't really thought about it when he was dealing directly - he'd become over-confident, and too keen to take the money. Complacent. If he or his target had been stopped - him in cuffs one side of the alley, and them on the other - they'd both have been sunk. 

"Turn your pockets out, boy," Moody says, his wand still digging into the skin behind Severus' ear. 

 _Good job I've gone back to Fletcher_ , he thinks.  _Good job this isn't a few weeks ago, when I'd have just met with Bast, coins jangling in my pocket, illicit potion burning a hole in his_. 

"I haven't got anything," he protests. Moody's wand twists painfully, and Severus hisses.

"My command wasn't an invitation for debate, it was an order. Turn out your pockets."

He doesn't move - least, not quickly enough, so Moody mutters something under his breath, and the tip of his wand burns white hot, and Severus yelps, and struggles, yanking his neck back and forth, the wand tip scorching across his skin as he tries fruitlessly to escape the pain. 

"Ready to co-operate?" Moody asks, gripping him tightly. Severus doesn't react to the question - doesn't make a sound, doesn't nod, doesn't dare move an inch - but the lack of response is enough for Moody, who nods, and smirks, and loosens his grip. "Now, empty your pockets," Moody says. "Slowly. One at a time." 

Severus isn't carrying anything in his pockets. Not really. His wallet and his wand and his papers - and he slides them out carefully, one after the other. He hasn't got his Striker badge with him - didn't want to risk Fletcher spying it, didn't want to be coerced into owing the grubby little man a favour, and now that Moody's rustling through his belongings, he's relieved.  _I don't want him knowing anything._  Moody holds him firmly against the wall, his thick elbow pinning Severus right between the shoulderblades whilst Moody holds his wand aloft.

"Lumos," he mutters, and then he scrutinises the younger wizard's papers in the bright wandlight. He takes his time, glancing between the papers and Severus, a nasty smile on his lips. "Ugly runt, aren't you?"

Severus doesn't dignify the insult with a response. He can almost hear Lily's voice in his mind:  _he's goading you, rise above it_.

"All seems to be in order," Moody eventually admits, gruffly, handing Severus his belongings back. "Anything else?"

 _Yes_.

He doesn't answer. 

"Right, hands against the wall," Moody instructs, clenching his own wand between his teeth, freeing up both hands.

 _Fuck_. Severus can't say no - even if he coughs up his wares, it won't stop Moody from going ahead - but as soon as his palms make contact with the wall, his chest heaves and his legs tremble. It's like that night in the yard, being forced to brace to receive his father's lecture and his fury, but instead of the whistling belt cutting into his skin, two large weathered hands grab him, grope him - and Severus involuntarily draws a shuddering breath. 

Behind him comes a bitter laugh, but it's tinged with uneasiness. "What the...?" Moody's unfinished question hangs in the air, and this time, the silence between them is almost tangible. 

Severus' breathing is jagged and he is certain the tremor in his right leg is obvious, but he simply presses his forehead against the brickwork. "Just get on with it," he begs.

Moody seems as uncomfortable as he is, and doesn't comment further on Severus' bizarre reaction, but his touch is quick and awkward - fast pats up and down Severus' body - chest, abdomen, quivering legs. Moody pauses at the hem of the jacket, running his fingers beneath it and then digging his hand into the waistband of Severus' jeans.

"You said you had nothing on you, boy?"

"I didn't say anything."

Moody laughs - still bitter, but this time, the uneasiness is absent. "It may harm your defence-"

"-it's nothing. You know it's nothing."

"Nothing?" Moody holds the small glass object in the air, peering at its contents. "Are you accusing me of planting this?" When Severus doesn't react, Moody's temper gets the better of him, and roughly twists him around until he's forced to acknowledge the retrieved vial.

"It's for personal use."

"And what personal use do you have for snallygaster claws?"

"Potions apprentice," Severus spits back, his black eyes unfathomable. 

 _Like staring into a deep well_ , Moody thinks.  _Could be ten feet down or ten miles._

"I know that," Moody snarls, roughly gripping Severus' hands behind his back and binding them with a flick of his wand, "but apprentice or not, these are prohibited. As you well know." 

Moody's right - snallygasters aren't native to Britain, so neither Jigger or Sluggy hold any part of them in their stores. If nothing has changed in the last few months, Borage has a handful of jars he keeps under lock and key - shed skin, broken teeth, and a pickled eye - but it's impossible to obtain such ingredients through the usual legitimate channels. There's only one place in magical Britain which offers them for sale, and it's not a wholesalers or an apothecary, but an importer on the black market; no tax, no returns, and certainly no guarantee. 

"So, tell me - what are you brewing with snallygaster claws?"

_A barely tested, rarely brewed vampire repellent._

And then Severus' eyes close, and he grunts - a cross between a groan and a sigh, his body sagging as the realisation hits him.  _Fletcher asks me for an experimental potion, so I come down here looking for exotic ingredients_ , he thinks, _and this setup couldn't have been more obvious_. 

* * *

He sits on the floor in the cold cell, back against the wall, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He wonders who is going to come for him - if anyone at all. It isn't so long ago that it would've been Lily - in those early days together, before they took her papers, and stole her legitimacy, and ruined both of their lives. If life was different, she'd be banging on the front desk, demanding to see him.

His new best friend Avery might, and given his ever-growing stature around the Ministry offices he might just have enough sway to get him released - although Severus remembers only too well how Avery left him to hang with blood on his hands when he knifed the Muggle. Maybe not. 

There's always Malf, ever-reliable when one is in a fix - although he's the last person Severus wants to see right now, not because his affection for his friend has waned or because he fears Malf's efforts won't be successful, but because neither of them need a paper trail. The thought of official documentation of their close connection just as the preparations are being made for the modified potion to find its way towards Abraxas sends a shiver through him, and he can almost hear Malf's voice ringing in his ears:  _I know I told you to lie low, but Azkaban is above and beyond as an alibi, old boy_. 

Not that this is Azkaban. Not yet. Not without charge - least, he doesn't think so. The laws change so thick and fast under Fudge, he can barely keep up. And then it hits him, and he sits up straight, all remaining colour draining from his face:  _fast track retribution_ _for the known underclass - criminals, halfbreeds, and those unworthy._

 _Criminals._ Severus can't help but pick at the skin surrounding his thumbnail. _Get a hold of yourself_ , he thinks, his inner voice angry as he rips into his skin.  _How is anything about this fast track retribution? You've been here for hours - night has already turned into day, and day back into night. Unless,_ and he smiles to himself, _this is fast by Ministry standards._

He stands then, and paces back and forth in his cell. He should've gone back up to the castle instead of roaming around Knockturn. The memory of his discussion with Dumbledore plays on his mind - he'd promised that all would be back to normal, that he'd return for his meals, that he'd be seen in the Great Hall, taking his place once more next to Slughorn. 

 _Slughorn._ That's the answer, he realises - his registered Master. He's briefly cheered, moving backwards and forwards around the enclosed space faster and faster - if Dumbledore asks Slughorn of his whereabouts, and it's noted he's entirely absent from the castle, one of them will realise. They might check the arrest notices in the Ministry atrium - and Slughorn can vouch for him. 

He breathes, and he smiles, and then - almost as quickly as it came - the relief dissipates.  _Idiot_ , he thinks, _if Slughorn's asked to vouch for you, they'll interrogate him about those prohibited ingredients and what he's got you brewing, and he'll either unwittingly cement your sentence, or you'll drag him down with you._

* * *

A tray is pushed through the hatch on the floor every few hours, and although the offering is grey and lukewarm and wholly unappetising, it's the only thing that reassures him that he hasn't been locked up and left to die. He's being melodramatic, he knows, but other than the food, it's as if he doesn't exist. Nobody visits, nobody checks on him.  _They might be monitoring you with a spell_ , he reasons, and his eyes scan the walls of the tiny cell, checking each and every brick for a crack or a fissure - for a viewpoint. 

There isn't one. He isn't sure if he's relieved or not. 

He's bored rigid; he's recited every potion ingredient list and method he can think of, he's counted the bricks, he's counted the bars, he's even punched the wall, and then writhed around in pain, his hand wedged between his thighs.  _It was a distraction at least_ , he reasons, although it hurts his knuckles when he tries to flex his fingers on his right hand. 

 _Lily would go ape_ , he thinks.  _At the self-inflicted bruising, at his arrest, at him losing his marbles after a short spell in solitary confinement._ Not that it's that short a spell. For the past few hours, a thin shaft of sunlight has been steadily moving across the cell, and is now hitting him squarely in the eye, but he can't even be bothered to move his head. Three times it's changed now, from night into day.  _Or is it four? I shouldn't have lost count so quickly._  He squints for a while, and then slings his arm over his eyes.  _Lily wouldn't have lost count. Lily, Lily, Lily. ...Lily doesn't even know you're here._

The thought hits him square in the chest, and the pain is worse than any damage his hand suffered.  _She's waiting for you to turn up, for your word to reach her, locked in her own confinement,_ he realises, and suddenly he's terrified that he won't get out of here - terrified that if this goes on much longer, she'll leave the sanctuary of her parents and come looking for him.

She wouldn't walk around Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade, he's certain of that, not without papers - not after last time, but she might reason he's at Hogwarts.  _Would she try her hand there?_ He shakes his head.  _No. Not with Bean. Not now, not after staying away for so long._

He pauses.  _Think like Lily, think! If you can't roam the streets, and you can't search at Hogwarts, who would you turn to? Where was he seen last?_ He sits a little straighter.  _Mundungus Fletcher. She'd go to an Order meeting._ He swallows hard as the imaginary scene plays out in his mind; he can almost hear her asking Fletcher whether he made the potion drop, and how would Fletcher respond? He can see his hands rubbing together, a deal to be done.  _A month ago, he'd have exchanged his information for a brew or two - but now he's got me back in the fold?_

He can't see it. Not now.  _Insurance_ , he thinks, _now that's a possibility - especially if he realises that I'm missing_. He closes his eyes, trying to imagine what the scene would be like - would she manage to get him alone, or would someone overhear?  _What if Potter sticks his nose in, or Vance, or Bones, or Dumbledore himself? What if Moody strode across - would he tell tale of this arrest? Or would he just listen, hoping for more incriminating material to come his way?_

 _If she reveals the nature of the deal he'd just come from, if she connects him - and herself - to Rabastan and Lucius and Abraxas…_ He picks at his thumb again - there'll be no skin left.  _She won't_. His inner voice is loud, insistent.  _She won't start shouting her mouth off at an Order meeting. How many times has she told you that she isn't sure of herself there, isn't certain of their loyalty? How many times has she told you that none of them have infiltrated the Dark Lord's group? How many times has she told you that the Ministry staff amongst them are outflanked, outnumbered, outmaneuvered?_

 _No,_ he thinks, _she might test the waters, rattle a few tins, shake a few trees, but she wouldn't give anything away. Think, Severus_ , his inner voice screams, _if you were in her shoes, where would you go?_  And then he stands, the thought coursing through him like a shot of adrenaline.  _She'd go to the same place you would_ _\- to someone with some influence, to someone with power, to someone who understands. To the only people who know about Bean._ He almost whimpers aloud.  _To the Manor. Into the murder scene itself._


	77. Lost all hope

He's stopped pacing. Stopped sitting upright, even. He just lies, staring impassively at the bricks, barely acknowledging the change from night to day and back again. When his food trays are pushed through the hatch he ignores them until the weak tea is tepid, and the gruel is even colder.

When he eventually heaves himself off the bed, he sits cross-legged on the floor, prodding the congealed mush with the plastic fork. Scarcely any passes his lips, but seeing as it tastes worse than it looks, he can't bring himself to force it down. In another lifetime, he'd worry about becoming weak, worry that he couldn't fight whatever forces he was due to face next - but there's hardly any fight left in him.

_What's the point when there's nothing to fight against?_

It's the boredom that's eating away at him; the lack of stimulation. No fresh air, no conversation, nothing to read or watch. There's just the daylight through the window. He should worry about wasting away but he's doing so little, doing nothing more than sleeping and breathing and blinking and overthinking, he can't imagine he needs much sustenance.

He briefly wondered if he should fear hallucinations, brought on by lack of food - but he's so fed up, he can't help but feel that they'd be a welcome distraction. It's the only thing he's got left - that little escape in his mind. He fantasises a lot.  _Not like that_. Fantasises about little things - about walking down the street and the feel of the pavement beneath his feet. He thinks about the sun beating down on his arms, and standing in the rain without a jacket, and the crunch and texture of an apple between his teeth - anything instead of this beige gruel.

He thinks about butterbeer and firewhisky, and fried eggs and bacon, and the array of treats on the tables at Hogwarts. He thinks about goblets of juice and goblets of wine, and the cacophony of voices filling the corridors, and Dumbledore calling the Great Hall to order. He thinks about the smell of grass when he lands at the Manor, and the cautious call of the peacocks when his feet crunch across the gravel path. He thinks of the furniture polish, and the smell of Narcissa's shampoo, and the heavy scent of Malf's aftershave, and the surprising weight of Draco when he's pressed against his chest. He thinks about Lily's smile - her smiling at Draco, her smiling at him, her smiling at both of them together. He thinks about her hair, and the freckles across the bridge of her nose, and the creak of her single bed when he nestles himself in it behind her, and Bean's spiral of magic beneath his hand.  _Bean_. 

He stops thinking then. It hurts too much to think like that, to think of them. It hurts his brain and it hurts his heart, so he slaps the wall, and he kicks it, and elbows it - and although he creates fresh bruises down his pale skin every day, he doesn't feel any better by the time he's finished. 

 _You're losing the plot, Sev_ , he thinks. 

For all his parents' promises that this is where he'd inevitably end up if he didn't get his act together, he doesn't know much about prison. He's been in holding cells before - Muggle and magical - and it's meant to be more humane than this, he's sure. He's not been charged, he's not even been interviewed - and he's been stuck in a claustrophobic cell for days on end, with a guard who won't respond to his shouts, and a toilet that's little more than a glorified metal bucket in the corner. 

Not that he's complaining about the bucket. It's the only magical object in the room and it empties itself, so he won't pretend that he's not grateful for that small mercy - at least there's some sort of toilet.  _Being grateful for pissing in a bucket._ If someone had told him he'd be thankful for that a month ago, he'd have been horrified.  _It's funny how quickly your perspective can change_. It's almost enough to make him laugh.  _All this for a handful of snallygaster claws_. 

* * *

There's no indication, no warning. One minute he's lying there, staring at the wall, his eyes absently tracing the shadows of the bars created by the sunlight streaming through the window - and the next, he's keeled over, forehead pressed against the ground, and his right hand clenched tightly around his left forearm.

"Fuck!"

It comes in waves, the pain. The brand on his inner arm burns black, the angry snake wriggling and writhing, its scales twisting as it slithers out of the fearsome skull's mouth, and then it halts. It all halts - the movement, the burning, the pain - and he almost cries with relief as it ebbs away, a lasting sting pulsing up and down his arm. 

But his relief is short lived; merely a moment of respite, a stark juxtaposition between calm and punishment, because then it hits him again. It's like being burnt - like the time when he was eight and his mam held his arm against the oven. He'd watched in horror as his skin seemed to melt against the hot metal, her spitefully counting down as the pain seared through him - _"5, 4, 3, 2 and a half, 1 and three quarters, are you sorry now, you little shit? No? Seven tenths, two thirds, I saw what you did! Three eighths - stop your scriking!"_ It was a torture of her own cruel invention - never knowing when the countdown would end and the punishment would cease. At least she'd never shared it with Da; Severus would probably never have sat down again if Tobias had belted him with such gleeful sadism.

There's no countdown this time - just the heat of his skin burning, then a brief lull, and just as he's panting his way through the dull ache, tears prickling at the corner of his eyes, the process starts up again - a furious fire that scorches a path deep into his veins.

It doesn't take him long to realise that it's not going to wane - that it's going to worsen each time it returns.  _If this goes on much longer, I might die_ , he thinks, and then his chest clenches as he wonders if that's the point. 

* * *

The first few days, he'd stared hopefully at the cell door. It felt inevitable that _someone_ would come - a friend or a colleague, or even an auror. He'd hoped that a guard would start a conversation, and he could casually mention that he was a Striker, or namedrop Avery - or, if the guard was an old timer, politically aligned away from the Dark Lord, he could mention his position at Hogwarts, whisper that Dumbledore needed to be informed.

It was a little over a week when he stopped staring at the cell door. He stopped a lot of things then - stopped pacing, stopped eating, stopped hoping.

 _You've been left here to die_.

He hadn't truly believed it, not at first - but as the days wore on, it was the only conclusion that made any sense. He couldn't quite fathom it, couldn't work out what he'd done to Moody, couldn't work out what perverse thrill he was getting from all of this; couldn't work out why Moody hadn't just killed him outright - used the Avada curse, or Apparated him to a motorway and shoved him in front of a lorry, or thrown him from a bridge. 

_Why let me waste away in here?_

It didn't make sense.

He didn't think anyone knew about the Dark Mark. He'd never heard mention of it, and Dumbledore hadn't warned him of it. His mother came closest, when she'd spied it freshly etched into his skin - but when he played the memory over and over in his mind, he couldn't tell if she knew what it was, what the branding was for and how it could be used, or whether she was just horrified to see the insignia.

 _But_ , he thought, as the pain rushed through his left arm, _maybe Moody knew. Maybe Dumbledore doesn't - he's a Headmaster after all, but Moody? Moody's a fighter, an auror, a dark wizard hunter. Maybe Moody's seen the Dark Mark - touched it, felt it, witnessed the burn. Maybe that's what this is_ , he thinks, bile building in the back of his throat as the burning reaches a crescendo, _maybe that's why he locked me in here; to hurt me, to punish me, to kill me - and all without it staining his conscience. Why get his hands dirty when the Dark Lord will do it for him?_

His mind was racing now, almost delirious with the searing and unrelenting pain. Despair had a stranglehold on him, and he was clawing at his burning skin, throwing himself against the walls, kicking and thumping and screaming, his throat hoarse and his eyes red. His face was bleeding, and his arm was bleeding, and his hands were bleeding, and his wailing was echoing back at him, bouncing off the walls, his screaming louder and louder, and in the height of his anguish, _that's_ when he finally lost all hope - because if nobody came for him now, with the burning and the bleeding and the bellowing, nobody was ever going to come.

* * *

"I've already told you, as soon as the screaming started, I sent for Moody-"

"Moody was on a raid! You should've summoned someone else!"

"-Moody told me that no-one was to enter!"

"He didn't tell you to stand by and do nothing whilst the man lost his mind!" 

Bickerstaff flared his nostrils, and stood up a little straighter, refusing to break eye contact. Admittedly, Moody hadn't _quite_ told him to stand by and do nothing, but it wasn't far from the truth. He'd reported back with each and every change, as he was meant to. He'd told Moody about the prisoner not eating, and he'd told him about the general malaise, and the progression into self-harm - and with each development, Moody had nodded, as if he could barely hear, and had signed the papers to extend Severus' custody.

"I don't mean to be impertinent, sir," Bickerstaff had said on the ninth night, as the freshly signed parchment folded itself up into a paper aeroplane, and then launched itself into the air.

"Then don't," muttered Moody.

"...I think he's ailing." 

Moody had sighed, and sniffed, and picked up the Prophet. "He's not ailing, Bickerstaff. He's simply having some thinking time."

"But he's not been charged, sir."

"He doesn't need to be charged to think." And then Moody had tucked the Prophet under his arm, and stood. "Nox!" he'd called, and the room was plunged into darkness. "Run along, Bickerstaff. You've got a prisoner to monitor."

He had said something. But now he was going to be blamed. Nobody ever came down this far, down to this level - but something had happened tonight, something big, and Shacklebolt and Dawlish were filling the overflow cells - and they'd stopped in their tracks when they heard the disturbance.

"Bickerstaff?" Shacklebolt was swift on his feet, his brightly coloured robes streaming behind him. "Is someone already being held down here?"

At that moment, Severus let out another blood curdling scream.

"Bloody hell!" Dawlish had yelled, waving his wand to turn a patch of the door transparent, and freezing in his tracks when he saw the state of the cell, and the man contained within it. "Don't just stand there, Bickerstaff - get one of the seniors down here!"

* * *

"Can't it wait?" Moody snaps, his fingers still gripping the collar of his latest arrest. "I'm booking in."

"Davies can book him in."

"But-"

"Now, Alastor," Bones says, icily. 

* * *

She leads him to an empty office on the fifth floor.

"Take a seat."

"I'll stand," Moody says, "I'm not staying."

"Alastor," she starts, her voice imploring, "you can't ignore this. Young Bickerstaff has made a statement-"

"Burn it," he says, harshly.

"Burn it? Burn it! You can't adapt the law for your own ends!" She moves in front of him, her eyes flashing with anger. "You can't hold a young man in custody for weeks-"

"-days," he interrupts.

Her lips thin. "Don't split hairs with me. The custody book shows his admission date, Alastor! If Emmeline sees this, it's all she'll need to get rid of you-"

"Then don't fucking show her!" he shouts, his temper flaring.

"And what, burn the custody book too? Wipe Kingsley's memories, and John's? What about the prisoner?" She squeezes her wand, her knuckles white. "What if he lodges a complaint? Over two weeks in solitary confinement for… _snallygaster claws_?" She lets out a harsh laugh. "Merlin, Alastor, what were you thinking?" 

"...I was thinking," he says, quietly, fury etched on his face, "that Dumbledore tasked me with getting him off the streets, and given that half of his recent associates have been booked in tonight for terrorism charges, I suspect Dumbledore had good reason." 

"Dumbledore is not in charge of this department. You don't answer to him."

"No?" He points his wand at Bickerstaff's statement. "If you don't do it, Amelia, I swear I will."

She twists it away from him, stopping him from firing the spell. "And John and Kingsley? What of their statements?" 

"I'll speak to them."

"And Snape? If he lodges a complaint?"

"He won't," Moody says, confidently. "Hold out Bickerstaff's statement, Amelia. ...please? For Dumbledore? For the cause?"

"Alastor…" 

"For _me_?"

He isn't certain she will, not at first - and then, slowly, reluctantly, she brings the page around. Before she can change her mind, he shouts the spell, and a quick burst of flame shoots from the end of his wand, lighting the parchment, and Bones hurriedly lets go. Both of them watch as the young auror's words go up in smoke. 

"Forgive me," Moody says, straightening his back. 

"I dare say it is not my forgiveness that you seek." 

"Where is he?"

"Finish booking your other suspects in," she says, quietly, "and I'll have him moved to one of the interview rooms."

"Thank you."

"You'll need to charge him with something. If the intention was to give him an alibi."

"I know."

She looks pained. "He already has a record."

"I know that too."

"One charge," she says. "And Alastor?"

"Yes?"

"If what Bickerstaff wrote is correct…" She trails off, her face sickened. "Just...be careful with him."

* * *

Moody doesn't really know how to do careful - not in interviews. He marches in, and the smell of Severus hits him long before he sees him; it's the stench of fresh blood and old sweat and layers and layers of dirt. Everything about the young wizard is repulsive, from his greasy hair to his roughened stubble to his overpowering body odour.

"Merlin," Moody exclaims, swinging his wand and coughing. "Scourgify!" He throws a few more charms towards Severus, none of them discrete. He peers at him from a distance, noting with horror the litany of injuries on his exposed skin - hands, and face, and neck. "I thought someone would've seen to you?"

Severus doesn't answer - doesn't even look at him. Moody grabs a chair, and twists it, moving it closer to his suspect before sitting astride it. "...I didn't think…" He looks awkward. "You should've been allowed to wash," he says, finally. 

Nothing. 

Moody exhales loudly, running his fingers through his hair. He didn't know what he'd expected, but it wasn't this - Severus hadn't been in there for that long. Longer than anticipated, sure, but Dumbledore had made it sound like an emergency.  _Too efficient_ , Moody thinks, _that's my trouble_.

"What was the screaming and carrying on about? Hey?" Moody shuffles the chair a little closer. "Bickerstaff says you were silent for days on end, and then tonight you scream the place down? Blood on the walls, blood on the ceiling. ...what was that about?"

It's involuntary, the movement, Moody's sure of that - but he's been an auror for a long time, so the flex of Severus' forearm doesn't go unnoticed. Before Severus can speak, he reaches out and grabs his wrist, slowly twisting his arm over. He grabs the custody cloak, standard issue for prisoners when their own clothing has been damaged - or in Severus' case, covered with blood. He roughly shrugs the sleeve up Severus' arm until the material settles in the crook of his elbow.

Nothing. There's no Dark Mark, there's no brand, there's no scar. There's nothing to explain the screaming, nothing to hint at the furious pain that ate away at his very soul.

"Just a twitch then?" he says, releasing Severus' arm and sitting back. "Nervy sort, aren't you?"

He still doesn't answer.

"You nearly pissed yourself when I frisked you," Moody presses, staring into those dark eyes. "...gasped like you thought I was your worst nightmare-"

"I didn't."

 _Gotcha_. Moody raises his eyebrows. "No? Not your worst nightmare?" He gives a dark grin. "I get it. Like it like that, do you? Man behind you, playing rough? Was that what the trembling legs were for-"

"Fuck you."

He smiles then, Moody. He can't do anything with silence, but anger? Anger he can work with. He reaches for his quill. "Shall we get this charge sheet filled out?"

* * *

Severus is weak - from pain, from lack of food, from delirious daydreams that he never thought he'd escape. The interview room is bright with artificial light, brighter than his cell was, and the chair is soft. An hour ago, he thought he was going to die - alone, and screaming, in a pool of blood on an unforgiving floor - and now he's staring at the details of his life, written out in neat block capitals in Indian Ink, as if his very essence is no more important than a shopping list or directions to the nearest village: Name, blood status, sex, parentage, age, occupation, distinguishing features, education, charges. It's not a life - it's just a list of words.

He isn't convinced that this isn't just another stage in the game - another trick, to mess with his mind, to coerce him into doing something or not doing something. He barely nods his way through his answers, and then, just as Moody's quill hovers at the point where the arresting officer needs to scribble his signature and then he can leave, Moody stops.

_What now?_

"...I knew your mother."

 _Oh_ , Severus thinks.  _This is a game_. He stares at the auror, his face impassive, and then he leans forward. "Yeah? Just like I knew yours?" He curls his lip, and he flexes his hips, his meaning unmistakable. 

Moody smirks. "Not quite the response I was looking for," he says - but relief floods through him; _the boy is unscathed after all_. He signs the paper with a flourish, and then passes over the quill. "She was in Slytherin."

"I know."

"Last of the Prince family."

"I know."

"...caused a terrible scene with her family when she ran away with that Muggle," he says, a little more quietly. 

Severus stops moving - almost stops breathing - the quill poised in mid-air. 

 _That Muggle? You mean my da_.

"Disowned her. Cut her out of the will, you name it. It was as if she'd never been born. Did you know that?"

 _No_.

"And then the marriage…" Moody trails off. "A right stir, that was."

"It's not that uncommon," Severus mumbles. 

"She never thought of coming back? To the magical world?"

Severus shrugs. "You should ask her, not me." 

"Is that an invitation?"

"Only if you want to be greeted with the same hospitality that you showed to me." Severus roughly shoves his chair back and stands. "...are we done?"

* * *

Severus' last words to her are all Lily can think of as she stares at the television in horror, her mother's dainty hand raised to her mouth, her father looking solemn. 

_"I won't get caught. And speaking of which, don't you go to Cissy's this week. In fact, don't go anywhere at all - stay here until I come for you."_

_Is this what he meant? Did he know?_

"It'll be the Troubles again," her father says, and her mother nods, but Lily stares at the tiny screen, scouring the picture for any trace of her partner. She wills the newsreader to stop talking, for the footage to go back to horrific scene of carnage - and she watches, her heart in her mouth, as figures traipse one-by-one past the camera.

"That's not…? He's not, surely?" 

Lily glances at her mother, her gaze fierce, daring her to finish the question. " _He?_ Are you talking about Sev? No," Lily says, sharply, "it's not him."

David sighs. "It does look a little like-"

"It doesn't!" Lily argues, hotly. "You'd think he'd never set foot in this house the way you two are behaving! Sev's taller than that guy, and his hair's longer - a lot longer!"

"Your father was only…" Rose trails off, as Lily storms past her. "Lily? Lily! Lily, lovey, where are you going?"

"To bed!" she yells. "To bed, where I don't have to listen to you complaining about the father of my baby!"

* * *

Moody takes him to Hogwarts. Severus doesn't want to be at Hogwarts - he wants to be in Cokeworth with Lily and Bean, but he can't say as much. His legs are so weak, Moody has to half-carry him into the Headmaster's study, and Severus knows he still looks a state when Dumbledore hesitates at the sight of him.

"Severus. Alastor."

"Your boy here's been in a spot of bother."

* * *

Severus doesn't know what they're talking about; he can see them - can see that Moody's showing Dumbledore his charge papers, but their voices are hushed, and Pomfrey is banging drawers and pulling curtains and stamping back and forth, huffing and tutting. 

"Really," she says, briskly, "I am seething!" 

He wonders what Moody's telling Dumbledore about his ordeal - whether he'll be honest and mention the solitary confinement, and the boredom, and the food, or whether he'll leap straight into explaining the blood and the screaming and the hysteria. Severus tries to catch Moody's eye, wants to intimidate him - to guilt him into revealing the truth, but before he can, the curtain is pulled close with a loud swish, and Pomfrey is unbuttoning his stained shirt, a washcloth and a basin of hot soapy water hovering beside her. 

He doesn't need to tell Pomfrey about his ordeal. She catches his eye as she washes his hands, encrusted blood still beneath his fingernails, and bright green and purple bruises littering his pale arms. 

"I'm furious, Severus," she says, not unkindly, as she cleans him. It's soothing, her ministrations - like a mother caring for her son - and his eyes involuntarily shutter closed as she rubs the soapy cloth in small circles across his chest. 

* * *

Lily tosses and turns, uncomfortable in every position, anger and fear streaming through her body. She wants to be furious at her parents, furious that they believed Severus would be involved in something so horrific - a terrorist attack on a Muggle shopping centre, no less - but rationally she knows she can't be too angry, because she was scouring the screen looking for him too.

 _But you didn't see him_ , the voice in her head reminds her - and there's a nagging doubt in the back of her mind. It's been two and a half weeks since he left, two and a half weeks since he warned her not to leave the house, two and a half weeks since she pressed her lips to his and kissed him goodbye. She can't remember the last time they spent so long apart without any sort of contact.  _He could've written you a letter_. 

Lily's written to him. Four letters so far, but she hasn't sent any of them - hasn't known where to send them. Hogwarts is the obvious address, but she's not certain he's there, and she doesn't want to draw attention to him - or his absence - unncessarily. She makes a mental list of all the places he could be - from the entirely unlikely, such as Eileen and Tobias', to the possible, such as the Manor, to the probable - Hogwarts. 

 _But if he was at Hogwarts or the Manor, surely he'd have written to you?_   _And if he was in Cokeworth, he'd have come over by now, even if he'd tapped on the window in the dead of night_. 

It strikes her then, a cold spiral of fear.  _What if he didn't make it to Mundungus Fletcher? What if he was caught carrying Wolfsbane? What if he's imprisoned, and needs assistance?_ She frets, worrying her lip between her finger and thumb, feeling stuck and useless in this Muggle world. She can't track down Fletcher - not in his usual haunt around Knockturn Alley, not without papers to hand.

 _But you have got papers. Those papers Lucius got for you_.

She spins the prospect over in her mind - Severus has moved heaven and earth to get those papers, and risking them being scrutinised before all the pieces are in place, before they've even married - it's a gamble she's not willing to take.

No, trawling after Mundungus Fletcher isn't the solution. And then she sits upright and smiles as she realises the answer was staring her in the face all along. There is someone else she can call on - someone else who would know if the potion was delivered safely, and the transaction between Mundungus and Severus took place: Remus Lupin.


	78. Caution to the wind

Her heart is in her mouth when her father brings the letter upstairs. At first, she'd thought it was from Severus - _hoped_ it was from Severus - but the perfect formation of capital letters in blue ink on the envelope soon put paid to that idea. Her boyfriend's scrawl was almost always in black, almost always accompanied by an inkblot or three, and even his block capitals were decorated with a flourish. 

_Lupin_.

It's the next best thing. Her hands tremble as she pulls the letter from its confines, and she scans Lupin's neat and tidy writing, breathing a sigh of relief as he confirms the time and location for them to meet instead of rejecting her outright. She holds it to her chest for a moment, and then she stuffs the envelope and the letter beneath the mattress, sitting back down atop of it instantly - as if the action of hiding it from plain sight means she's not betraying Severus.

_I'm not betraying him. I'm trying to find him_ , she chastises the muttering voice in her mind.  _He'd do exactly the same if the roles were reversed_.

* * *

It's quiet in the hospital wing, but it's not like the harsh isolating silence of the cells he languished in a few days earlier. There's few people here, but there are other signs of life; he can hear the wind whistling through the trees outside, and faint cheering from the Quidditch pitch - _there must be a match_ \- and the occasional chirrup of birdsong. He feels included, as if he's part of the world that's moving around him. He drifts in and out of sleep as Pomfrey wheels beds and moves cabinets and clinks bottles, and when she stands over his bed every two hours, with her hands squarely on her hips, he obligingly swallows the potions she administers. 

There's nothing sinister in her prescriptions, but equally, there's nothing that'll work a miracle. She's dosing him with small amounts of Draught of Peace, a refined version of Pepperup that makes his limbs feel warm and relaxed, and she's smothered his bruises in that awful smelling gel. It doesn't take him long to realise that he's not here for the medicine - with a cauldron and a handful of ingredients from Sluggy's store, he could've brewed these himself - but he's here for the company and the comfort - an antidote to the isolation he'd suffered, if not an apology.

_I don't need to be with Pomfrey to be comforted_ , he thinks.  _I need to be with Lily and Bean_. He can't argue for this though, not without revealing their presence - and not with the Headmaster popping by every hour or so, and certainly not with Pomfrey shooting concerned glances towards him whenever she thinks he's not looking.

It's not just the Headmaster who stops by. There's a gentle ebb and flow of visitors - of house elves and teachers and students - and he's surprised at how busy she is, and how many minor ailments she treats from morning through to night.  _I'd never have come here for a simple graze like that_ , he thinks, peering from beneath his covers as a second year is treated for skinning his knee after a mishap on the stairs. Indeed, to Severus' surprise most of the visitors have trivial ailments, and they drop by for a potion - _I'd have brewed my own_ \- or a carefully aimed spell - _I didn't know you could use Accio to get grit from a scrape_. 

She's skilled, he realises, and patient and diligent. It's not just in how she treats each witch or wizard, but in how she records each and every event, no matter how small. She's methodical, taking the large book from the shelf, scribing the incident, and then replacing it - all things in their place - and then she updates the medical inventory for the infirmary, keeping a running total of her supplies. If she's reached the end of a bottle or a vial or a box or a tube, she fills in another piece of parchment - spelled blue, no less - which immediately folds itself up and launches itself into the air. 

He's seen those blue medical request slips before.  _So I don't lose it on my desk_ , Slughorn had once boomed at him - and having seen the state of Slughorn's desk, Severus is certain that when the parchment was its usual colour, that's exactly what had happened. 

Despite the continuing cycle of visitors, there are no major crises, so the interruptions are fleeting. She deals with each case with care and a hint of concern, and yet it's all tinged with a cool indifference. It's as if she's quietly reminding them that she's a member of staff, not their mother. It's necessary, he supposes, in a boarding school with children who've never been separated from their parents for an extended period before - else there'd be first year kids clinging to her robes from the moment she opened the doors in the morning. 

_She's nicer to you than she is to them_ , he thinks, as he watches her rebuke a fourth year for over reliance on Dreamless Sleep - and he wonders if it's because he's no longer a student, or whether she has a soft spot for him because he wasn't a bother at their age. He always managed his minor injuries himself - _fancy going to Pomfrey for a scrape_ \- so whenever he dragged himself to the hospital wing - or, more honestly, whenever Lily badgered him to go to the hospital wing - he was seriously injured.

_Lily_. He pulls his bedcovers tighter around him.  _Don't think about Lily_. 

* * *

Lily plasters a fake smile on her face as soon as the second man steps from the shadows. "You didn't say-"

"No, I didn't," Lupin admits, cutting her off, "but he wouldn't take no for an answer. I'm sorry I didn't ask first."

"You didn't need to ask - why would Evans say no?" Potter laughs, looping his arm through hers. "Old Moons here is far too cautious."

She glances over her shoulder, checking down the deserted alley as they set off. "Or he's just the right amount of cautious."

Lupin has already set off, silently leading them through a maze of streets, so Potter doesn't reply - or if he does, it's lost to the distance between them. Lupin's movements are brisk, and she finds herself falling back, soon out of breath with his quick pace.

"All right, Evans?" Potter says, turning to face her but still walking backwards so he doesn't fall too far behind Lupin. He frowns. "Thought you could burn up the track with the best of them?"

"...I've been a little unwell," she says, pressing her hand against her side, trying to alleviate the burning stitch.  _Not now, Bean,_ she thinks, desperately.  _Hold tight_.  _This is for Daddy_. 

Potter stops then, and moves to stand next to her, putting his arm over her shoulders, and giving a low but piercing whistle. "Oi, Moony, slow it down a bit, yeah?"

Lupin is almost at the end of the street, but at Potter's call, he trots back towards them, his eyebrows slightly raised and his eyes darker than usual - but he doesn't complain. He leans against a wall, patiently waiting until she's ready to move once more. This time, his pace is far slower, and his wand is out, and she can sense that Potter is watching her anxiously as their tiny group heads through the streets.

It takes a little longer than they anticipated to reach their destination - a bar below ground - and the anxiety of their late entry shows on Lupin's face, but it's Potter who draws his wand and makes a show of checking the area before he ushers her down the steps and into the underground pub. They hesitate before the doorman, who sniffs and slowly nods, and she can almost feel the tension draining from Lupin as they enter the room. 

It's dark and dingy, lit by candles and filled with smoke, but hardly unexpected of a bar underground. She's never been here before, and by the gawking looks in their direction from a group near to the bar, she'd wager that it's not a location that either Lupin or Potter frequent with any regularity, and she wonders how Lupin knew the man at the door, and why they've chosen this location.

"Butterbeer," Lupin says, pointing at Potter. It's not a question, and Potter doesn't react. Lupin silently points his finger at Lily next, and when she doesn't state her preference, he rolls his eyes. "Come on, Evans. What are you drinking?" 

"Just water, thanks."

"Just water?" Potter scoffs. "You can't have just water. Three Butterbeers, Moons-"

"No, not Butterbeer."

"Not Butterbeer?" Potter's eyes narrow. "Firewhisky more your thing?" He gives a light laugh. "Feisty this one, Moons. Hardcore. Who'd have thought it of our Evans, hey?"

"Water. I've been sick," she hisses, but Potter just laughs and she watches helplessly as Lupin stands at the bar. To her relief, when Lupin returns it's clear he has accepted her protest, even if Potter didn't, and he places a glass of lime and soda before her.

"No vodka," he says, with a lopsided smile, "I swear." He clinks his glass of Butterbeer against Potter's, and then holds it out to her, offering her the same. 

She gratefully accepts, touching glass against glass, and then sips tentatively.  _He's not lying to you. It's just flavoured soda water_. "Thank you."

"So," Lupin says, subtly glancing from one side to the other, "what's wrong?"

She gives a tight smile. "Why would there be anything wrong?"

Potter smirks from behind his drink. "He means, what gives, Evans?" He takes a long swig, and then thumps his glass onto the table. "We never see you, not unless it's a," and he lowers his voice, "meeting of like-minded individuals. And now you write to Moony, out of the blue-"

"It's hardly a crime."

Lupin smiles at her response. "Not in the slightest," he says, his fingers toying with his glass, "but it makes me curious.  _Me_ , I mean," he says, with feeling. "I would've been more surprised if you'd written to Peter, even if he was your saviour-"

Potter scoffs. "Yeah, and don't we know it, he bangs on about it night and day!"

"-but I could accept one of the others. After all, Sirius is the money man, and James here…" Lupin trails off, and shrugs.

"What about him?"

"...forgive me," Lupin says, smiling, "but I thought he was the one of us you were closest to." 

She can't help but glance at Potter as Lupin speaks, and he looks simultaneously proud and pleased and carefree, and she wonders if that's how the four see her - as someone who doesn't have much to say to Pettigrew, and sees Black as an endless financial pit, and perceives Lupin as a charity case, but there's something close to affection between her and Potter. 

_It's not far from the truth. You do like him_.

It's a traitorous thought. It's the sort of thought that would have Severus erupting - he wouldn't even need his wand for his anger to manifest as magic; it'd crackle through his fingertips, the sort of magic that breaks ornaments and leaves scorch marks on the walls. 

_But it's true_.

He's not the boy he once was, Potter - not this man who visited her at their flat, the man who welcomed her into the Order, the man who now has his hand on her knee, and his fingers are warm, and his smile is welcoming.

"Get your hands off, Potter." 

"I thought we were friends."

"We are."

He smiles even more widely. "Good. I thought we could talk-"

"You don't talk with your fingers," she says, coolly, peeling his hand from her knee. 

"No?" He sits back, sulkily, his hands shoved in his pockets. "I bet Malfoy does," he mutters. 

"Me," Lupin says, interrupting and deliberately breaking through the tension at the table. "You wrote to _me_." He leans forward, his eyes raking over her. "Why?"

"Yes," Potter says softly, although now his smile doesn't quite reach his eyes, "why him?" 

There's a long silence. She hadn't anticipated that Lupin would bring anyone else - not Black, not Pettigrew, and certainly not Potter. She'd thought she could just casually ask how his transformations had been going - it'd be enough if he mentioned his last one, then she'd know he'd received the potion - but it'd be difficult enough to pull off with just Lupin's eyes trained on her, with Potter hanging on her every word, she's certain the pair will put two and two together. 

"It's about the potion, isn't it?" Lupin's voice startles her out of her thoughts. He glances at Potter, who nods - a previous agreement clear between them. "What's wrong? Are you struggling to get the ingredients, or is it too difficult brewing on the run?"

"We'd understand," Potter interjects. "Moony here says it's heaven-sent, but if you can't keep a cauldron bubbling under Malfoy's nose, we get it." He glances at Lupin. "Maybe you could teach one of us." 

"You're not good enough," she says, quickly. 

Potter leans back, crossing his arms. "Thanks Evans. That's two insults-"

"It's not even one."

"You just said I couldn't brew-"

"She's right," Lupin interrupts, "it's unbelievable that she can brew it. This is Slughorn's level, not OWL or NEWT. One mistake and..." He exhales loudly.  

She looks from one to the other, not daring to speak.

Potter sighs. "Maybe that's the answer? Sluggy might do it."

"He wouldn't brew something patented to another Master," she says. "I know it seems ludicrous to us, knowing the good it does, the suffering it stops," and she smiles kindly at Lupin, "but Sluggy's a stickler for the rules. There's a code of honour amongst brewers." 

Lupin nods. "Besides, I wouldn't trust anyone else." 

"Yeah, thank Merlin we didn't get Snivellus to brew it," Potter says, running his hands through his hair. "What a mess we'd be in now." 

Lupin's eyes don't leave hers, his lips thin. "I only trust you, Evans. It's important to me that it's your brew." 

She stares at him, her gaze fierce, and she wills him to understand that this isn't a conversation they can have with Potter present. "I know," she says, eventually.

"All right, Moons. We get it. No Slughorn," Potter says, sipping his drink. "So what's the problem then, Evans? You're not having trouble with Dung turning our money into Muggle cash for you, are you?" 

She shakes her head. It's not quite a lie - the profits do turn into Muggle cash, but not through Fletcher's direct actions. The payment goes straight into Severus' pockets, and he trickles it into his Gringotts account, and then he slowly changes as much as he dares into sterling and passes it to her. 

"If it's not ingredients," Lupin presses, his eyes raking over her, "and it's not a problem to brew it, and it's not the cash, then what is it?" 

Potter looks equally blank, and she knows that the two men are trying to piece together different puzzles - she knows that Potter's wondering why she's here, and what she's doing with Malfoy, whilst Lupin's mulling over the triangle between her and Severus and Lucius, and why she'd lie about breaking up with Severus, and why Severus would lie, and what Dumbledore knows or doesn't know.

It makes her head spin. She doesn't trust Lupin, but there's part of her that wishes that Potter hadn't turned up and that she could talk to him frankly - and then she wishes that she hadn't written the letter in the first place, and then she figures that having already made her decision, she might as well get the information she came for.

"The last full moon," she says, "earlier this week. How was the transformation? The same as usual? With the potion, I mean?" 

At this, Lupin frowns. "...I don't recall a difference. Should I have noticed something?"

"You took it in exactly the same way?"

"Yes." 

Potter leans forward eagerly. "Did you change something?"

"Just the standing time," she says, quickly. "I had to race to decant it, and I wondered if it had an effect. It was only a few minutes."

Lupin chews his lip. "Not that I can recall." He gives a tight smile. "Good news though, yes? If it saves a few minutes?"

"Good news," she says, shooting him a genuine smile, and raising her glass.  _He got it. Severus delivered the potion_. "To good news." 

* * *

He can't keep closing his eyes every time the Headmaster steps into the hospital wing, but it's a ruse that has seemingly worked for the past two days, so Severus tries his luck once more when he hears the door being pushed open. 

This time, he's not successful. He can't hear the door swinging open or slamming shut or the sound of footsteps retreating. Instead, to his dismay, he can sense that the Headmaster is standing before his bed. He tries to control his breathing, and keeps his eyes firmly shut - and then he hears a low murmur from Pomfrey, and light footsteps, and the next thing he knows, he can hear the curtain around his bed being drawn. Now he's absolutely certain there's someone by his bed, but he daren't open his eyes in case it's Dumbledore, and he almost jumps a mile when he feels Pomfrey's slim hand on his forehead.

"I know you're not asleep," she whispers.

He cracks open one eye, and when he realises that Dumbledore is still on the other side of the curtain and unable to see him, he opens both. "I don't want to talk to him," he whispers back.

"I know," she says, straightening his blankets, "but the Headmaster will keep returning until he finds you awake." She pauses, and then smooths his hair with her hand. "Severus, listening to what he has to say doesn't mean that you can't still be angry. You have every right to be angry."

"And I have every right not to talk to him."

"He's not asking you to talk," she says, "but just to listen."

Before he can protest further, the curtain swishes, and Dumbledore appears behind Pomfrey. "Ah, Severus," he says, with a kindly smile as he takes the seat next to the bed, "I thought I heard your voice. I am pleased you are finally awake."

* * *

When Potter makes his excuses and heads to the toilets, Lupin leans over the table. "Look, I'm sorry for bringing him along without asking."

"Good," she says, briskly.

"...I thought you might've brought someone."

"Lucius Malfoy sends his regards."

"That's not who I meant."

"From your choice of bodyguard, I can imagine who you expected." She sighs. "There's more than one reason Severus pushes that potion through Fletcher, you know." 

Lupin narrows his eyes. "Why didn't you tell me?"

She gives a soft laugh. "You needed me to tell you that Severus doesn't like you?"

"No, about the brewing time," he explains, looking irritated, "when I picked it up from Fletcher. Merlin, Evans, what's got into you?" He sits back. "What was it? You didn't think I'd take it if you told me there might be something wrong?" His eyes widen. "Wait a minute, did you ask Snape to warn me and he didn't? And that's what this is about - you coming here now to check, because you were worried that something had happened?"

She watches as Potter makes his way from the toilet and heads to the bar. "Severus wasn't the problem," she hisses. "I trust _him_. I didn't trust Fletcher to pass on the message. And I was right, wasn't I, if this is the first you're hearing of it?" 

"Wait until I get my hands on Fletcher," Lupin says, shredding his paper coaster.

It's on the tip of her tongue to protest, to warn him not to say anything to Fletcher - but then she smiles, realising the obvious trap. If she warns Lupin not to speak to Fletcher, it's clear she's lying - so she keeps quiet, and after a long moment, Lupin smiles back.

"I knew you were still together. You and Snape."

She gives a tight smile. "Severus feared as much." She glances at Potter who is still standing at the bar, galleons in hand. "And the rest of them? Potter, Black, Pettigrew - do they know?"

He shakes his head.

"If you still want this potion, make sure you keep it that way."

"Fine. I have my own condition," Lupin says, his smile as equally tight as Lily's. "I'll take whatever amendments you make, but not his."

She gives a small laugh. "You shouldn't deride him. He's a talented brewer."

"He's a talented brewer who-"

"-don't you dare say you believe that nonsense about him killing people with his potions," she spits, hotly. "You of all people should know what it's like when people spread rumours." 

"Not that," Lupin says, a dark look in his eyes. "Now how did your delightful boyfriend say it to me? Ah yes, I remember - he said, _I_ _fucking hate wolves_." The tight smile is back on Lupin's lips. "He might not have killed anyone.  _Yet_. I certainly don't intend for him to start with me." 

* * *

"The day was wrong."

Severus can't help the explosion of shocked laughter that erupts from deep within him, and then he stares, mouth gaping, at the Headmaster. "Are you…" He shakes his head. "Are you serious?  _That's_ what you lead with? I got the wrong _day_?" He gasps - it's not a laugh, and it's not a wheeze, but a twisted version of the two; a strangled sound, full of disbelief.

Dumbledore smiles at him, not unkindly. "The fact remains, the day was incorrect. The attack didn't happen on the date you provided."

"Normal people would say that they're sorry."

"This is a war, Severus." There's a pause. "Had it been the correct day-"

"Oh, it's my fault now. I see, how silly of me."

This time, Dumbledore's voice is a little cooler. "I arranged for you to be pulled off the streets because I was concerned for your safety."

"You mean you didn't trust me to play my part."

"Yes."

Severus looks a little surprised at Dumbledore's plain admission. "...right."

"Was I wrong?" He gives a small smile. "Forgive me, Severus, but would you have done as we discussed? Would you have stood your ground alongside Mr Avery and your other associates? Or would you have tried to help someone - perhaps a child? Or a young family? A pregnant mother, or an elderly grandfather? Would you have opened a fire door that you'd been told to barricade shut? Would you have outed yourself in the process, or would you have been discrete? Or would someone have seen, and sent whisperings of your treachery back to your Dark Lord?"

He doesn't say anything.

"We both know the answer," Dumbledore says, softly, "and I am pleased that you are a man of such fine moral fibre."

"Yeah, so pleased you had me locked up." Severus scowls at him. "I thought the plan wasn't that I would be put in such a position. I thought the plan was that I gave you the information about the attack and you would stop it!" 

Dumbledore removes his glasses, and gently taps them with his wand, causing the streaks and smears on the lenses to instantly disappear. "And if I had stopped it," he says, quietly, "then who would your Dark Lord have blamed? Me? Certainly. The Order? Most likely. The Auror Office? Of course. But he'd also have blamed you, and your friend Mr Avery, and you would've both found yourselves excluded - or worse." He places his glasses back on the bridge of his nose. "I knew you weren't prepared to stand aside, and I knew I wasn't able to stop the attack."

"So you had me arrested."

"And I wasn't prepared to lose you." 

Dumbledore says it with such feeling, it causes Severus to pause. He frowns, his dark eyes scrutinising the older wizard, as if trying to fathom whether he's telling the truth. The tension in the air is heavy - oppressive - and as his chest tightens, Severus wishes he hadn't declined Pomfrey's earlier offer of another dose of Draught of Peace. 

"For what it is worth, Alastor regrets his part in what happened." Dumbledore leans in a little closer. " _I_ regret what happened."

"He pulled me in thinking the attack would be Tuesday?"

"Yes," Dumbledore says. "And we waited, and we waited, and it didn't happen. Without you, we didn't have any ears on the ground - and having made the decision to take you off the streets, I didn't want you released and thrown straight back into the action."

"And Fletcher? He's in on it too?"

"Confunded."

Severus barks a laugh. "Excellent. I should be concerned that my broker is so pliable."

"I imagine that's his selling point." Dumbledore absently twists his wand in his hand. "The charge you were given-"

"Procuring without licence-"

"-yes," Dumbledore says. "I want you to understand that it's nothing to concern yourself with."

"It's three months in Azkaban."

"It's three months suspended."

"...I could contest it."

"And if you do and you lose," Dumbledore warns, "it's twelve." He sighs. "It's the lowest credible charge they could find."

Severus scowls. "All those laws and they couldn't come up with a warning?"

"Not once you were held over ten days." Dumbledore looks solemn. "Severus, you must understand that this wasn't the intention. You were meant to be in there 48 hours, 72 at most. You could've been charged with disorderly conduct, or resisting arrest, or-"

"He could've told me," Severus interrupts, softly. "That's what I can't forgive. Just a word in my ear - a sign, a clue!"

"And if they'd used Veritaserum? The Ministry isn't the place it once was, Severus. There are aurors looking to secure their own position in whatever regime-"

"You sound paranoid," Severus interrupts. "You're suggesting that someone inside the Ministry wants rid of one of the most decorated aurors they've got?"

"Indeed, Severus," Dumbledore says with a smile, and sounding more cheerful than the topic would suggest. "I would suggest that Alastor's uncanny ability to capture dark wizards makes him a key target."

There's a silence as they mull this over, and then Severus lifts his head. "So what now? I admit that I'm guilty, and…" He shrugs. "I keep my head down? Go back to brewing?"

"You go back to the Dark Lord," Dumbledore says, quietly.

Severus' heart sinks as he hears the command. "It's not better for me to just lie low, keep under the radar?"

"It is too suspicious if you suddenly disappear after being so involved." Dumbledore sighs. "And this time, Severus, whatever happens, you _must_ play your part. We can't risk pulling you out again. It is imperative that the Dark Lord believes you to be his loyal foot soldier, or there's no telling how he may react." 

Dumbledore stands, and he places his hand on Severus' shoulder, his fingers gripping the younger man's tricep firmly - as if he was communicating an apology he was unable to put into words - and then the curtain swishes, and he departs.

* * *

She stacks the pillows against the headboard and sighs as she leans back, her tired legs and aching feet stretched out on the mattress. With the concealment spell now lifted, her bump is in view - _I can barely see my feet_ \- and she strokes her hand across Bean, toying with the magic spiralling from within her. 

"You're a powerful little thing, aren't you?" she murmurs. "If Daddy was here, we could have a good long argument about whether you take after Mummy or Daddy." 

_If Daddy was here, he'd insist you take after me_ , she thinks.  _And if Daddy was here, it'd be his hand on my bump. And if Daddy was here, I wouldn't be leaning against pillows, but he'd be holding us to him. Three weeks since we've seen him_.She takes a deep breath.  _Stop thinking like this_.  _This isn't helping you and it isn't helping Bean_.  _Be practical. Logical. Think like Severus._

She closes her eyes, her hand moving absently but methodically against Bean. "So now we know Daddy gave Fletcher the potion," she murmurs, "but where did he go next, Bean?"

* * *

He held it together well - or so he thought. Right up until the moment that Dumbledore said he had to go back - right up until the moment that he'd gripped him, and he'd felt _something_. Not quite an apology, not quite regret - but something. 

He didn't know how much Pomfrey had heard, but she hadn't pulled the curtain back, and he was certain she was giving him time and space to regroup.  _I could definitely do with that Draught of Peace_ , he thinks, and to his horror, when he absently scratches his cheek, he realises it's damp.  _Fucking crying again_ , he thinks.  _Avery'd have a field day_. He sniffs, and angrily rubs his palms against his eyes, as if scrubbing any hint of emotion from his face - and when he removes his hands, that's when he sees it: a floating piece of blue parchment.

"Knock knock," comes the familiar voice, and then there's an awkward laugh. "Can't knock on velvet."

"Sir?"

The curtain swishes back and Horace Slughorn stands before him, his concerned smile almost fully covered by his large moustache. He reaches for the blue parchment awkwardly. "I came by to drop off the latest batch of supplies. I didn't know you were here, Severus."

Severus props himself up on his elbow, relieved that he'd wiped the tears from his face. "I didn't hear you come in."

"Neither, I think," Slughorn says in a low voice, pulling the seat towards him and sitting down heavily, "did the Headmaster." He sighs heavily, stroking his finger and thumb against his moustache, his expression aghast. "The Dark Lord, Severus."

"...how much did you hear, sir?"

"Enough to be alarmed." Slughorn sits in silence, as if contemplating his next move, his fingers toying with his moustache. "I feel that you should know that I prepared your rejection papers last week," he says, finally. "To return you to Arsenius."

_Oh fuck_.

Severus' Occlumency shields are in shreds following his period in isolation, and he knows his devastation is clear on his face. He pulls the covers up to his neck and buries his face in them. 

"It isn't just that you went missing, but you've been lying to me," Slughorn continues. "Very competently too, I must say. I had no idea that Lily hasn't been in the castle all of this time. You've been very cunning. There was the moment last month when the mask slipped, you might recall, but you manoeuvred your way out of it with ease," he says, almost with a hint of admiration. "Young Lucius would be proud." And then he looks uneasy. "Of both your purist beliefs, and your talent for pulling the wool over my eyes."

Severus looks up then, his black eyes peering from under the blanket that's still pressed against his face.

"Tell me, Severus, how long have you been pretending to be her?"

Severus gives a light shrug.

"Days? Weeks?  _Months_?" Slughorn exhales loudly, his expression furious. "Merlin's beard, Severus, was that what all the stalling was about whenever I suggested I go ahead and send you over to Belby? Was she ever under my tutelage?"

He lowers the blanket a fraction. "She's been brewing every potion that you set, sir." 

Slughorn looks even more pained, and pinches the bridge of his nose. "And now you're talking to me in riddles. I cared for you! For both of you! Offered to help, and this is how you've repaid me! She's Merlin knows where and you're off cavorting with the Dark Lor-"

"On the Headmaster's instruction," Severus sharply interrupts, suddenly at the end of his temper. "Did you miss that vital part of the conversation when you were listening in? I don't want to be there!  _He_ is forcing me to do this!"

There's a momentary pause - the room silent other than the two men breathing heavily. "And that's why Lily broke up with you? Because of whatever mission Albus has set for you?" 

"She hasn't broken up with me," he snaps, suddenly not caring about the consequences, utterly sick of having to hide the best thing in his life, "and I most certainly haven't broken up with her." He can feel his heart banging in his chest. "I've asked her to marry me, and she's said yes."

Slughorn looks stunned. "Then why on earth have you been standing in my classroom instead of her?"

At this, Severus finally drops the covers from his mouth, and takes a shuddering breath, throwing all caution to the wind. "Because she stopped being able to take Polyjuice.  _Sir_." 


	79. Can't and won't

Severus can't recall the last time Horace Slughorn was lost for words - least, not like this, with his mouth agape and his teeth showing from beneath his large moustache. "...Merlin's beard, sir," Severus prompts, softly.

It takes Slughorn a minute to register that the younger wizard has spoken. "Sorry?"

"Merlin's beard, sir," Severus repeats. "I'm guessing that's what you're thinking."

Slughorn exhales loudly, and rubs his hand over his face, fingers massaging his eyebrows. "Indeed, Severus. Congratulations are in order, I suppose."

"We're happy."

At this, Slughorn lowers his hand from his eyes, and his gaze is piercing. "Are you? Both of you?"

Severus bristles. "Yes."

"And the Headmaster? Is he aware of this development?"

Severus shakes his head. "No, and please don't-"

"I won't." Slughorn's promise is swift, before Severus can even ask it of him. "Lily's agreed to marry you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do it before the child is born. There is time."

Severus inhales sharply at the statement, but before he can explain that there probably isn't - that the days are closing in on them - realisation crosses Slughorn's face.

"It wasn't young Lucius' deviancy," Slughorn says, thoughtfully, "when you were making enthusiastic queries about Polyjuice."

"No, sir."

Slughorn counts back on his fingers, recalling the conversation he had with Severus all those months before. "It's tight," he says, "but still achievable." Sensing Severus' hesitation, Slughorn leans forward. "You do understand, don't you, Severus?"

"...not really, sir." Severus looks awkward. "It's complicated."

Slughorn sits a little straighter. "Complicated? I thought you said she'd agreed to marry you?"

There's a moment of hesitation, and Severus' dark eyes glance around the empty hospital wing. 

"Come, Severus," Slughorn says, quietly, "you've told me this much."

"...I have better papers for her," Severus whispers, his voice barely audible. "In her married name. When she has _my_ name."

"Ah. And if you marry at the Ministry, the marriage certificate will record the bloodstatus she carries on her current papers. The papers with her maiden name."

"Yes."

Slughorn looks thoughtful, teasing his moustache between his fingers. "Would it matter? Would anyone really think to look?"

"It's not worth the risk," Severus says, looking earnest. "Anyone can request a copy of those records."

"There are many families with a few inconsistencies in their family tree. Plenty more in these past few months." Slughorn gives a tight smile. "It's curious how many former Muggleborns have discovered magical ancestry since these new laws have passed. I appreciate your concern, but I think you are being overly cautious."

"I've never been popular," Severus says, with a wry shake of his head, "and I've always had a nasty habit of making enemies. That's all it takes - for someone to take an unnatural interest in me, and if there's even a hint of misconduct, someone will find it-"

"Severus-"

"-I know I sound paranoid," he interrupts, "but if there's to be any hope of us integrating into wizarding society, our papers have got to be watertight. I'm not prepared to lose her over something so trivial." He picks at the blanket held tightly between his fingers. "I'm sure with the right financial incentive we could find someone who would overlook what her current papers say, but it might take some time. I'm not sure I can do it before Be-the baby," he hurriedly corrects himself, and coughs. "I'm not sure I can get the funds in the right place before the baby arrives." 

Slughorn sits back in his chair, his eyebrows knitted together in a frown. "Hmm, I believe you're overthinking this."

Severus eyes him curiously. "You've got another suggestion? ...I was thinking about Confunding, but I'm not brilliant at it, and if I'm caught-" 

"My, you have been spending rather too much time with Lucius," Slughorn murmurs. "Despite what Mr Malfoy might tell you, not every problem needs to be resolved with trickery and duplicitous deeds - although I dare say this rather simple solution would not have occurred to your good friend." He gives a small triumphant smile. "There is no place for bloodstatus on a marriage certificate if the ceremony takes place in Muggle society." 

"A Muggle wedding?"

"A Muggle wedding," Slughorn nods.

"And what? Our marriage would still be recognised as legal here? Even without her bloodstatus on the official documents?"

"Our worlds are not so different," Slughorn says, quietly, "as much as some may wish for you to believe." He pauses. "Your mother's marriage was so recognised."

"Oh!" Severus says, looking a little abashed at the realisation. "Yes, Lily found the notice in the Prophet in the library a few years back."

" _Lily_ found it?"

"I wasn't that interested, but Lily wanted to know more about my mam's time at Hogwarts." Severus gives a half shrug. "Not that she found anything, not really."

Slughorn nods. "Your mother preferred not to draw attention to herself."

"Unless it's Gobstones," Severus chuckles. "Mam never says anything about school - not unless it's about Gobstones." 

"And you haven't considered following in your mother's footsteps?" Slughorn asks, carefully. 

"Didn't fancy Gobstones captaincy."

"There's no need to be flippant."

"Never." Severus' serious answer is quick and fierce. "I want my kid to grow up surrounded by magic. ...I never had that. Nor Lil."

"Even in times such as these?"

Severus nods stiffly. "Even now." There's a long pause, and Severus twists the blankets between his fingers. "You don't understand, sir. Not unless you've been there. It's not that they're…" He looks up, his expression awkward. "...but they're just not the same as us."

"Not even your father?"

Severus splutters. "Mostly definitely not him."

"Her parents?" Slughorn gently probes. "Are they so very different?"

 _Yes_ , he thinks, _they are so very different to my father_ \- even though he knows that's not the question Slughorn is asking. "...still Muggles," Severus says, eventually. "They love her." He looks up, his gaze steely. "But her sister's a nightmare, and her sister's husband is even worse." 

"It's difficult for me to believe that Lily doesn't share the same traits as her family." Slughorn gives a tight smile. "I taught your mother. I can see her in-"

"Lily's not like _them_ ," Severus interrupts, with feeling. "Lily's like us."

There's another long pause, and Slughorn's thick fingers reach up to fiddle with his moustache. "If you were both to leave, both to live in the Muggle-"

"I just said-"

"I know what you said!" Slughorn hisses. "And have you already forgotten what the Headmaster wants you to do?" He trails off, exhaling loudly. "Severus, come now, be sensible."

"And do what?" The disdain drips from Severus' voice. " _Hide_? I'm not a coward."

"Nobody is suggesting that you are, but you have responsibilities now, you have-"

"I know!" Severus tugs the blanket more firmly around himself. "I know what my responsibilities are, and I know what I need to do to keep her and my child safe." He glares at Slughorn, the fury clear in his face. "And turning my back - _our_ backs - on the magical world is not the answer. If we were going to give up, we could've done that months ago."

"It's not giving up."

"No? Sounds like it."

"And it doesn't have to be forever," Slughorn says, placatingly. "In a few years this will all have blown over."

"And if it hasn't?"

"It will. We've been here before, trust me. These movements come and go."

"And what happens when the next one comes along? We run away again?" Severus gives a twisted smile and shakes his head. "Besides, you heard the Headmaster. I'm in too deep."

"There's no such thing, Severus."

"...they'd come looking for me."

"Who? The Dark…" Slughorn inhales sharply, unwilling to say the name once more. "No, Severus. He wouldn't find you. Not if you were careful."

 _It doesn't matter how careful you are if his magic thrums through your skin_ , Severus thinks, fighting the urge to scratch the spot where the Dark Mark had once sat, desperate not to somehow cause the now invisible brand to regenerate.He leans back on the bed, his eyes briefly closing, and rests his head against the metal headboard. "I can't. I won't."

Slughorn looks conflicted, as if there's something warring inside him, and he paces back and forth. "Can't and won't are not the same. Which is it?"

"Both."

"Why not?" Slughorn stares down at the younger man. "Is it because of that trouble you were in? With the Muggle authorities?"

"It's got something to do with it, yeah," he mutters.

"Or perhaps, Severus," Slughorn says, his voice low, "it's not that at all. Perhaps, Severus, I am to understand that your fierce opposition to spending your life with the woman you tell me that you love-"

"-I do love her!"

"-and your unborn child, has roots elsewhere?" He's still pacing back and forth, his footsteps echoing around the room. "Why would you not wish to retreat from this madness? Why would you not wish to take your family and run?" Slughorn stops pacing. "Unless…"

"Unless what?"

"Unless you do believe those words that your peers whisper - that Lucius so often recites, that young Avery favours?"

"What words?"

"Do you truly believe Muggles to be beneath you? To be lesser? To be _other_?" His words hang in the air. "And Muggleborns the same, Severus?"

Severus' eyes snap open. "No."

Slughorn's expression is stern. "I thought it was Imperatum," he says, "when you were spouting such nonsense-"

"What? When I said that stuff about Filch and Hagrid?"

"So you do remember?" Slughorn looks triumphant. "Perhaps your education under your other Masters has been lacking after all."

"It's not… I don't…" He looks pained. "I don't understand."

"Tell me, Severus, how does Imperatum work?"

Severus frowns, his forefinger absently tracing his lips as he thinks. "The victim becomes susceptible."

"And?"

"You can suggest things to them."

"And?"

Severus gives a small shrug. "It's a compliance potion."

"That's the same point three times." Slughorn gives him a stern glare. "You are ordinarily a much better student than this, Severus."

Severus looks annoyed. "What else is there to say? You can't build tolerance to it. Nor immunity." He scowls. "Unless you're going to say that's the same point twice?"

"What else?" 

"...I don't know."

"You do," Slughorn presses. "I realise you've had a difficult few days, but I want to you to think carefully before you answer. What happens when you take Imperatum, Severus?"

"Other people can influence you."

"And..?" 

"And make you do things."

Slughorn pinches the bridge of his nose. "Severus, concentrate! I know you know this." At Severus' blank look, he sighs. "If you were to take Imperatum now, and I was to instruct you-"

"Oh!" Severus' eyes widen as he realises the answer. "The victim doesn't remember the instruction. Their memory of any events is subdued."

Slughorn smiles. "Their memory of any events is subdued," he repeats.  

Severus scoffs. "So what are you trying to say? That I didn't take Imperatum after all? That I actually believe that stuff?" He shakes his head. "How could I do that? How could I make sure that my beer wasn't laced with it when you said it was all tainted?" 

"I ask because you seem to recollect our conversation well enough. As if you weren't suffering the effects of such a potion."

"I only remember it because _you_ told me what I said," Severus argues hotly, hoping that he isn't caught out in the lie. "As if I'd compare my wife-to-be to a creature."

Slughorn gives a small nod. "And what else do you know about Imperatum?"

"Like what?"

"Severus," Slughorn says, his tone weary, "pretend this is an examination. Go through the normal processes - composition, brewing time," he waves his hand, "the usual."

Severus sighs heavily. "Imperatum is a colourless, odourless potion, but the trained potioneer can sense the unique shimmer-"

"I've read the textbook, Severus, I don't need you to recite it word for word. A summary will suffice."

"Fine! It's a complicated and tedious potion to brew, and it has similarities to the far simpler Wiggenweld Potion."

"Good. Why?"

"They're both potions about power. Wiggenweld is about subverting power. Imperatum is about wielding power."

"Very good! And what is the base of the Wiggenweld Potion?"

"Wiggentree. Obviously."

"And Imperatum?"

"Also wiggentree."

Slughorn nods. "So, tell me, Severus, if you were to brew something designed to circumvent-"

"I wasn't." He's sitting upright now, his blankets clutched tightly in his fists.

"Bowtruckles, Severus," Slughorn says, quietly. "It's quite ingenious, but with the quantity you've been using, I'm surprised we haven't had a petition sent to us."

"Scamanderists."

"They usually keep a keen eye on such processes." Slughorn gives a tight smile. "You have been fortunate. Clever and fortunate."

"Not fortunate."

"No? Not fortunate? I dare say Barty Crouch Jr would disagree with you." Slughorn draws in a shuddering breath. "Did you know he was taking the fall for your creation?"

"I didn't know!"

"You didn't know when you sold it to him?"

"I didn't sell it to Barty," Severus protests. "As far as I know, he never touched my potion. I think someone set him up."

Slughorn looks troubled as he considers these words. "Do you know who set him up?"

 _Me_.  _Malf_.  _Cissy and Lily_. 

"No," he lies. "But I'm certain that's why they pushed his trial through the Ministry so quickly - I don't think they had any evidence. They can't have, because I wasn't dealing it to him."

"Unless the person you dealt with sold it on?" 

"I suppose."

"So who knew about this potion? Who were you brewing it for?  _Him_?"

Severus shakes his head. "I don't brew for the Dark Lord."  _I'm not trusted to do so - not since I screwed up that potion all those months ago_.

Slughorn inclines his head, his fingers twisting his moustache even more firmly. "Then who else would want to procure such a brew, to help resist the effects? Someone associated with the auror office, perhaps? ...surely not the Headmaster?"

"No," Severus mutters. "That's the thing, this potion, it's not meant to be an antidote for Imperatum." He looks troubled. "It's just a side-effect. An accident." 

"But it's a side-effect others know about?"

Severus shrugs. "It's not widely known, sir. My potion, it's not even really on the market."

"If it's not on the market, who told you about the interaction, Severus?"

"...Lucius."

Slughorn sighs. "And if anyone in the wizarding world were to notice the effect of Imperatum failing, it would be one of the Malfoy family." He absently walks around Severus' bed, as if the act of moving helps him to think. "But once Lucius made you aware, you started taking it yourself?"

"I'd heard rumours."

"About the tainted alcohol supply?"

Severus nods.

"So you started to take it when you knew you would be expected to drink in such venues?"

Severus nods again. 

"And you took it the night before we spoke, didn't you?" 

This time, his nod is fleeting. 

"Didn't you, Severus?" Slughorn pushes, wanting to hear him confess. 

"...yes."

"So those words, Severus - those comments you made about Hagrid and Filch… If you were not under the effect of Imperatum, but instead you were taking this potion of your own creation, am I to understand those were your true thoughts?"

"...no, sir."

Slughorn's eyes narrow. "But you remember making them? You remember your comments in the Great Hall?"

 _Yes_. But it's not just those thoughts - it's not just the ones that Slughorn challenged him over. It's what happened after, when that flush of fury was coursing through his veins, when he was brewing, and grinding up bowtruckles, and how his mind was filled with thoughts about Lily and Petunia and parentage and David and Rose and squib blood and mules and Avery and infertility, and his mouth opens a little wider because he hadn't quite forgotten, but until now, the thoughts were almost deeply embedded within his mind - as if he shouldn't be able to access them, but to his horror, he can.  _How did I not notice?_

"Severus?"

"It's not working," he gasps, a sudden tightness gripping his chest. "My potion! It used to work! It used to work, to stop the Imperatum but all that stuff - that stuff I was saying, and I was thinking… I remember it!" His eyes are wide as he throws his blanket back and moves to stand. "It can't have been working properly!"

"Severus, get back into bed," Slughorn says, earnestly, looking over his shoulder as if fearful that Poppy Pomfrey would emerge from her office and catch her patient in distress.

"No, sir, you don't understand, I don't think like that, I don't believe those things! And if the potion isn't working-"

Slughorn places his hand firmly on the younger wizard's shoulder and pushes him back down onto the bed. "Severus," he says, sternly, "don't make a scene. This can wait until morning."

"It can't." He gives Slughorn a desperate look. "Besides, you said yourself, I need to get to Lily, get her to marry me.

"You do," Slughorn says, with his hand still firmly holding Severus to the bed, "but I doubt that you will be able to do anything productive at this time of the night."

"I'll catch the Knight Bus."

"You'll do no such thing, Severus," Pomfrey suddenly interrupts, marching over towards them, her heels clicking loudly on the tiled floor - and Severus scowls as he sees the flicker of triumph cross Slughorn's face. "And you, Horace, why are you manhandling your apprentice?"

"He's too keen to get back into the lab," Slughorn says, with a jovial smile. "He heard I was preparing his rejection papers."

Pomfrey looks appalled, a deep scarlet rising into her cheeks. "Horace," she hisses, "the boy has been through a traumatic ordeal, and you come up here not to wish him well, but to inform him of your intention to eject him from the castle?"

"Not at all, not at all," he says, soothingly. "I will hold onto these papers, Severus, now that I am fully apprised of the situation." 

"Hold onto them? You should burn them," Pomfrey says, angrily wrestling with Severus' bedcovers until he's tightly pinned back into the bed. 

"It's too tight," Severus complains, "you're cutting my circulation off."

"Hush!" Pomfrey turns back to Slughorn. "And I don't want you bothering him until he's well." 

"No, of course not," Slughorn says, with a smile. 

"No!" Severus says, fighting against the covers to try and sit up. "I want to… There's something I need to say."

She puts her hands on her hips. "Well?"

"To my Master."

Pomfrey rolls her eyes. "Severus, if this is about your apprenticeship, it can wait. Professor Slughorn will-"

"Just five minutes? Please? In private? That's all I'm asking." 

She looks between the two men, her gaze hardening as she glances at Slughorn. " _Two_ minutes. Then these lights are going off for the evening." With a sceptical glance behind her, she retreats to her office, the door shutting firmly behind her.

"I truly didn't know, sir," Severus says. "It's all been a misunderstanding." He pauses. "If I knew I had an antidote to Imperatum, I'd have looked to put it on the market, wouldn't I? I'd have made a fortune. And you could ask Fletcher - he'll tell you that I'm not selling such a brew."

"I try to keep a healthy distance from Mundungus Fletcher." Slughorn looks pained. "Has Fletcher ever asked you for such a creation?"

"Not in so many words," Severus says, "but the influx of Imperatum was affecting his business. He hinted a few times that there must be a solution."

Slughorn sighs. "There is the possibility that Crouch's punishment was a message intended for you, Severus. A warning not to explore such a creation." He leans forward. "Whatever you do, tell nobody about this brew. Burn your notes, and arrange to speak to Lucius. Make sure he doesn't speak to anyone about it."

"Yes, sir."

"And if Fletcher mentions it again, tell him that it's impossible to brew such a potion."

"Yes, sir."

Slughorn glances towards Pomfrey's office, as if terrified that she's about to burst out and throw him from the hospital wing. "So if this potion wasn't intended to be an antidote for Imperatum, what on earth were you using bowtruckles for? What did you believe you'd brewed?"

"Master Jigger already told you," Severus says, quietly. "It's an antidote, sir, but it's not for potions."

Slughorn runs his hands over his face, and Severus can hear the slight groan emitting from his old housemaster. "So his accusations were correct?"

"No," Severus says, hotly. "I'm not an alcoholic."

"By all rights," Slughorn says, "I should be encouraging you to set the wheels in motion to marry young Lily, and now I find that you have problems with drinking and-"

"-I don't. I've got it all under control, sir."

"Because you take this potion?"

"No. I don't need it. I'm fine." Severus can tell his words are falling on deaf ears, so he sighs. "Besides, sir, she already knows what I drink, and how much I drink, and how frequently I drink. We've been living together for a long time. Ever since we left Hogwarts."

Slughorn looks thoughtful. "And you say you've got it under control?"

"Yes, sir."

"And Lucius, you say? He struggles this way also? Is Narcissa aware?"

"No, I brew for Lucius," Severus says, quietly. "I always have, ever since school. Any new creations I make, like this, he examines them. It's part of our agreement."

"And he samples them himself?"

Severus shrugs. "I don't know what he does with them, but he's the one who determines whether they should see the market. I brew for fun," he says, his eyes sparkling, "because I like the challenge of creating. Lucius lives for profit, and he wouldn't want me putting something out to the punters that affects his bottom line." 

"But he managed to spot the interaction with Imperatum..." Slughorn frowns. "Severus, did he… Did Lucius say why he'd been using Imperatum?"

"I don't think he does," Severus says, quickly - almost too quickly. "Use it, that is. I certainly don't brew it for him. For anyone! He's never asked me for it." Severus stops then, aware that his anxiety is causing him to ramble. 

There's a strange look on Slughorn's face, and Severus wonders how much he knows about Lucius' life as a boy, and whether he is drawing the obvious - but incorrect - conclusion that history is repeating itself, and that Lucius is doing the same to his wife and son as Abraxas once did to his own family, and secretly dosing them with Imperatum. 

_Sorry Malf, but it's better that than Sluggy realising that Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange are at the bottom of all of this_ , Severus thinks.

Severus pointedly stares at Pomfrey's office then, willing Slughorn to stop thinking about Lucius and Imperatum. "Sir?"

Slughorn nods, as if he's been jolted back to the present. "It is a rather unfortunate coincidence that this nasty business with Imperatum has taken place." He glances at Severus with a hint of admiration. "Many other brewers have attempted to create a potion that combats the effects of alcohol, and all have failed."

"Master Jigger said as much, sir."

"In different circumstances, we would all have been rather rich," Slughorn says, with a forlorn smile, "but alas, it is not to be…" He sniffs, and straightens. "Yes. Well, I will hold on to those rejection papers of yours, just in case they come in useful. Perhaps failing your apprenticeship would be a plausible backstory for you to disappear into Muggle society," he says, ignoring the look of protest on Severus' face, "if such a scenario should come to pass. And I'm certain Arsenius would sign something to corroborate a plausible story." He gives Severus a dark look. "Perhaps a little something about your fondness for the bottle would add an air of legitimacy to the proceedings." Before Severus can argue, Slughorn leans over him, his expression cheerful once more, and grips Severus' slender shoulder, his meaty palm warm through Severus' nightshirt. "I sincerely meant it when I offered my congratulations to you, Severus. To you both. In a world that seems incredibly dark, such news is a welcome light."

"Thank you," Severus says, quietly. "And I hate to repeat myself sir, but you do promise not to tell anyone? Not even Madam Pomfrey?"

"You have my word." Slughorn takes a step away, and then another, and then turns back, his hand gripping the foot of the bed. "Severus?"

"Yes, sir?"

"This potion..." Slughorn looks conflicted. "There's no chance that you could've missed a step? Brewed it incorrectly, and that's why it didn't work as anticipated?"

Severus bristles. "I know how to brew."

"Even the most talented potioneers can make a mistake. ...I know Arsenius has said before that you are sometimes careless, a little sloppy-"

"I'm not," Severus argues, his chin tilted upwards. "Not these days."  _Not since the Dark Lord whipped the life out of me for delivering the wrong potion_.

"And," Slughorn looks even more uneasy, "your child, Severus?"

His breath catches in his chest. "What about my child?"

"I am correct in thinking this has been an…" he pauses, and waves his hand, "unplanned pregnancy?"

"...yes."

"Then forgive me," Slughorn says, "but you were both in my NEWT class when we covered contraceptive potions. Am I to understand that the cause of this was a brewing error as well?"

Severus gives a soft laugh. "No, the cause of _this_ was the forced break up to get us into Hogwarts. She didn't have any potions with her when we were apart and…" He trails off, looking a little embarrassed. "...and we were rather keen to see each other when we reunited, if you follow my meaning." 

Slughorn coughs and looks away, the tips of his ears pink. "Well. As I said, see to it that you marry quickly."

"It's just…" 

"Just what, Severus?"

"I can hardly organise that now, can I?" Severus glances anxiously towards Pomfrey's office. "Madam Pomfrey will be under instruction to look after me, to keep me here, and then Dumbledore-"

"I'll arrange for you to have some time away from the castle tomorrow."

"It's not just that, sir. I thought Lily might like to wait. Until she's not pregnant. So we can enjoy the day a bit more, and-"

"Severus, no." Slughorn grips the metal bed frame more tightly. "For you to claim the child, you must be married." He draws in a breath. "And in times like this, whether Lily has new papers or not, I would suggest that it was of great importance that as a Halfblood, you ensure you are recognised as the father. Do you understand me?"

Severus swallows hard. "Yes, sir, I understand." 


	80. Dear departed Daddy

"Oh, Cissy, don't be so squeamish!"

"It's not squeamish-"

"-it is," Bellatrix protests, her smile wide, "they're just Muggles."

Narcissa shifts awkwardly in her seat. "I just don't like the sight of blood."

"We're only discussing what happened. It's not as if you can actually see it," Rabastan drawls, idly flicking his wand over in his hand.

"The mere thought of it perturbs me," Narcissa clarifies, "bodily fluids of any kind, really."

"I thought you'd just had a baby," Rabastan laughs. "That's all they are, isn't it? Milk and snot and piss and blood and-"

Narcissa sniffs loudly, distaste clear on her face. "I thank you not to speak of my son in such a manner."

Bellatrix gives a high pitched laugh at Narcissa's outburst. "Yes, Rabastan," she says, sternly, "know your place. You're at _Malfoy_ Manor now, are you not aware? We do not speak of such things here."

There's a moment of unease, as Rabastan and Narcissa both watch Bellatrix's expression, a cruel smile creeping across the older witch's face. 

"And where is little baby today, Cissy?"

"Draco is-"

"Lucius, I mean," Bellatrix interrupts, that cruel smile growing ever-larger - and Rabastan dutifully laughs loudly at her jibe.

Narcissa squares her shoulders, her hands clenched tightly together, her lips pinched. "Father and son are together."

"Not here? And to think that I haven't yet held the child," Bellatrix mourns. "Your own sister. His own aunt." Her eyes narrow as she appraises her sister. "Is there to be some sort of celebration of his birth, or are we deliberately pretending that he doesn't exist, and that this sorry turn of events didn't occur-"

" _Don't_ ," hisses Narcissa, her expression glacial. 

"As fascinating as this sisterly bonding is," Rabastan says, standing, "I'll excuse myself to the facilities whilst you resolve this between yourselves." He leaves the room, his outer cloak folded over his arm, and as the door bangs behind him, Narcissa stands.

"How dare you, Bellatrix!"

Bellatrix laughs. "Cissy, Cissy-"

"Don't _Cissy_ me!" Narcissa draws in a deep breath. "It is quite enough that you visit here and make snide comments about Lucius-"

"-he's a pig-"

"-before Rabastan no less-"

"-and a coward-"

"-but I will not-"

"-and a fool-"

"-sit here and listen to-"

"-and a liar and a cheat-"

"-you disparaging _my son_!" Narcissa shrieks.

Bellatrix stops, and for the first time, seemingly appreciates Narcissa's anger. "...I do not have a problem with your son," she says, soothingly, "although it is a shame that you have tainted the Black heritage with Malfoy stock." There's a slight pause, and at the silence, Bellatrix inclines her head, a small smile playing on her lips once more. "He is, I assume?"

"Take that back."

Bellatrix chuckles. "Don't be coy, Cissy. We all know. We all know what dastardly Lucius is like." She grins, her eyes sparkling. "Is that why little Draco isn't here today? Does he have a shock of red hair, or unexplained black eyes? You always did have a thing for that slimy little Halfblood-"

"-at least I'm not barren," Narcissa hisses, and she smiles broadly as Bellatrix visibly recoils at the sudden attack. "Have you confided that little secret to darling Rodolphus yet, or are you saving that for an anniversary surprise?" 

"Well," says Bellatrix, standing and straightening her robes, "at least I know one witch who will be welcoming me to the club. Enjoy your time with your only child, Cissy, and let us both pray to Salazar that no hardship shall befall him." 

* * *

"I want her here now, please, Lucius."

Lucius carries on writing, as if Narcissa hasn't spoken, his quill moving quickly over the parchment. He halts a moment later, and places the quill on his desk, and then sits back in his chair, appraising his wife. "It is not so simple."

"I don't see what the problem is. She was here three or four times a week-"

"-she is now heavily pregnant. Severus does not wish-"

"Severus? Severus? Severus is not so controlling."

Lucius flinches. "And what exactly are you suggesting? Severus is not, but I am?"

"...I want to see Lily."

"Bellatrix was her usual charming self this afternoon, I understand?"

"Don't make it worse, Lucius." Narcissa tilts her chin. "I don't ask you for much."

Lucius arches his eyebrow, and picks up his quill. "No?" He keeps his gaze trained on the parchment, but he waves his hand. "This glory, this splendour that I keep you in, the jewellery and the robes and the finery, this is not _much_?"

"That's not what I mean."

"Besides," he drawls, "it is not my permission you seek. I could not care less if she was here day and night. Move the witch in for all I care." He glances up, his expression unfathomable. "It is dear Severus you have to convince."

"Then bring him here. I shall ask him."

"I cannot," Lucius says, his tone bored, "for I do not know where he is." 

She takes a step forward, gripping the back of the chair which faces his desk. "You do not know? Lucius, it's been weeks since we saw-"

"-and I hear from Dobby that Rabastan accompanied your delightful sister on her visit today? How is he?"

Narcissa gives a slight shrug. "I was too busy with Bellatrix to notice."

Lucius smirks. "Of course. And tell me, was Bast a willing participant in the latest Black sister catfight, or was he wise enough to make himself scarce? Dolph is rather more well versed in your behaviour and he knows exactly what to expect when you two are left in the same room, but I fear Bast is rather more innocent. Now," he drawls, without pausing to let her answer, "do we have any ornaments left in the drawing room, or shall I arrange for your purse to bulge appropriately so you can organise a therapeutic shopping trip?"

"The ornaments are fine," Narcissa says, coolly, "and no, Rabastan briefly made his excuses and when he returned five minutes later, both he and Bella left."

"Five minutes? Is that all?" Lucius asks, thoughtfully. 

"It was more than enough."

He stands, and moves around his desk, and pulls Narcissa into his arms. "I apologise for your sister's behaviour. I know how it distresses you so."

"She'll never accept this," Narcissa murmurs into his chest, "never."

"Then it is her loss," Lucius says, sternly, his hand gripping hers.

"She's…"

"She's what?"

"Scathing," Narcissa whispers. "Scathing about you, and scathing about me for being married to you and…"

"And? What else, Cissy?"

"...scathing about our son. Suggesting..." She trails off, and then sighs. "You know fully well what she is suggesting."

Lucius runs his fingers beneath Narcissa's chin, and then gently tilts it upwards until she's staring into his eyes. "And this distresses you?" he murmurs. 

"Yes."

"Do you remember our vows?"

"Yes."

"Remind me," he says, his voice a low rumble.

"Love, honour and obey."

" _Obey_ ," he repeats with a thin smile, and then he presses his lips against hers. "What else?"

"In sickness and in health-"

"-til death do us part," he finishes, and then he kisses her again, more firmly, his hands reaching up to hold her face as he ravages her mouth. "You," he says, breathlessly, "are mine."

"Yes."

"'Til death."

"Yes."

"Few men would offer you the life I provide."

"I know, Lucius. I'm not saying-"

"- _she_ \- Bellatrix - is jealous," he continues, kissing her between his stern statements, his hands moving lower down her body, "jealous of you, jealous of our relationship, jealous of everything I provide, jealous of everything I permit you to do. Do you think Rodolphus allows her such liberties?"

"...I do not imagine so."

"Or even your beloved Severus?" Lucius murmurs, turning her against his desk, his mouth hot against hers, and his fingers trailing across her thighs. "Do you think he _shares_ his witch? Do you think he happily watches as another man takes his pleasure with the woman he calls his own?"

"I know that he doesn't."

"No. No, he doesn't. And yet Bella whispers lies to you, Bella tells you it's because I think less of you," he says silkily, lifting her robes and freeing himself, "but does this look like I think less of you?" He presses his mouth back against hers, his hard cock sliding against her bare inner thigh, trailing a slow path up her leg. "No, it's because I think _more_ of you. I trust you, Cissy, I trust you to take your pleasure elsewhere and then to return to where you belong," and then before she can answer, he groans as he presses himself inside her, bracing his arms against his desk. "Am I right? You know where you belong, yes?"

"Yes," she breathes.

"Bellatrix," he says, as he thrusts inside his wife, "lusts after a man who is not hers." And then he smiles, a wicked, dangerous smile. "And she cannot have him. For her husband is not like me. Her husband," and then he thrusts forcefully into Narcissa, "does not permit her to play. And that's all it is.  _Play_." He reaches down, and twists her neck, and captures her mouth, his tongue wrestling against hers with a passion she'd almost forgotten in these past few months. "I've missed you," he hisses as he traces her ear with his tongue, "I've missed this, I've missed _us_."

It's quick, their coupling - a rush of temper and possession, and he's stuffing himself back into his fine trousers before she's even started her slow climb to pleasure, and when she looks at him with that self-confident smirk across his face, she can't be certain that his actions weren't deliberate.

"Come," he says, with feeling, and she winces, knowing now for certain that this is yet another of his games. She glares at him, and he looks amused at her annoyance - and then he grabs her once more, his grip tight around her bicep, and he spins her into an embrace, his mouth moving over hers until her knees weaken. "I think we should both check on my father and then," he promises, his voice low in her ear, "I'm going to take you upstairs and I'm going to make you remember why after every sordid, deviant little dalliance you partake in, you always return to my bed."

* * *

With Lucius, there's always an undertone of malice, of spite, of power - but his mood darkens further as soon as they enter Abraxas' study. She watches as his pale eyes dart around the room, settling first on Abraxas who is seated behind his desk, and then on the firewhisky bottles by the bookcase, and then finally on the empty glass on the desk. She almost reaches for him as he marches forward and grips the empty glass tumbler on his father's desk, inhaling deeply.

"Well?" Abraxas' enquiry is mild.

"Well what?" spits Lucius.

"Is it in there?"

Narcissa frowns, glancing at Lucius in confusion. "Is what in there?" 

"Whatever your beloved husband intended for me to consume," Abraxas smiles at Narcissa, "it hasn't worked." He grins, and indicates to himself. "Still here. Still fighting fit." 

"Lucius-"

"Shut up," Lucius hisses, his eyes not leaving his father. "Rabastan poured this drink for you, I assume?"

"I had taken my leave for a walk around the grounds, and I did not have the pleasure of seeing Mr Lestrange. It matters not - he was kind enough to leave me a trinket of his affection in my absence, as appears to be his wont these days. I wonder what has caused him to behave in such a manner these last few months? Perhaps he's attempting to leverage himself into my will? Now, what was it, little one?" Abraxas' tone is light, carefree. "What scene were you steeling yourself for when you entered? The chance to appear stoic before your screaming wife when you saw my cold body laid out on the floor?"

"You didn't drink what Rabastan left for you."

"Oh, but I did." Abraxas summons the small bottle from the bin, Rabastan's parchment still spelled to it, and holds it aloft, the bottle clearly empty. 

Lucius glances at Narcissa. "Leave."

"If you truly wish to murder me, Lucius," Abraxas says, with a smirk, "then what does an audience matter? If I know the Blacks as well as I think I do, she might even find it a turn on." 

"Lucius, don't! Don't listen to him-"

But it's too late - his wand is in his hand, pointed directly at his father. 

"Lucius, no!" She grabs him by his wand arm, and drags him into the corridor, slamming the door loudly behind them, and casting at it furiously to prevent Abraxas from following them.

His pale eyes rake over her face, his breathing laboured. "What was that for?"

"You're asking me?" she shrieks, knocking his wand out of his hand with a well timed swipe of her arm. "You were about to...about to kill your father!"

"It would be no loss!"

"Lucius, listen to yourself-"

"-no, you listen to me, Cissy!" he hisses, pushing her against the wall, his body pinning her against the solid brick. "He will be the downfall of our family, of me, of you, of Draco-"

"-then disown him, don't kill him!"

"I knew you wouldn't understand."

"And that's why you didn't tell me what you were plotting," she says, her voice even. "But you told someone else of your intention, didn't you?"

He shakes his head. 

"...the potion," she presses, when he refuses to answer. "Severus? Is that why you've not heard from him?"

"Perhaps," he says, softly, "if he's being cautious. But I rather thought…" He looks disturbed. "It's nothing. Maybe he's just waiting to hear from me first."

"So the glass you sniffed… It was Severus' potion?"

Lucius makes a slight movement, and she takes it as an agreement.

"Meant to kill your father?"

He nods more firmly this time. 

"Why?"

Lucius breathes heavily, a sharp intake of breath that almost seems to wound him - and Narcissa threads her arms around him, holding him close to her. 

"Lucius, please tell me. The truth. Tell me the truth."

"Because he was threatening you." And then his pale eyes rake over hers. "Threatening me. Threatening our son." He shakes his head. "And I can't have that. I can't have anyone coming between us." 

"Threatening us how?"

"He bankrolled the Dark Lord," Lucius says. "For years."

"I know. My father also." She gazes at him, as if trying to read his innermost thoughts. "But we are so aligned, are we not?"

"She fucked a Prewett."

"Who?"

"Ignatius." He almost spits the name, as if it's poison upon his tongue.

"Not him, _her_. Who is she?" 

Lucius inhales deeply, as if there's a spear piercing his chest, preventing his lungs from filling properly. "My mother. My mother, she fucked Ignatius Prewett!" 

 _Red hair._ Narcissa's hand flies to her mouth as Bellatrix's pointed jibe falls into place. 

"And my father? Well, he fucked my mother," Lucius says, pressing himself even more firmly against his wife. "He changed her."

"Changed her how?"

"She was my…" He trails off, changing track. "It deadened her, Cissy. Behind the eyes. The potion, he gave it to her night after night, and to me! To me, Cissy! To his own son, his own flesh and blood! To stop me from aiding her, to stop me from noticing."

Her heart is hammering so loudly in her chest, she can barely breath. "Which potion?"

"Imperatum," he says, his gaze fierce. "Imperatum." He gives a harsh laugh. "He controlled her, and he controlled me, and he has done nothing but bring shame and dishonour on this family."

"Not your mother?"

It's a dangerous question, and his hand flinches and flexes, and reaches to her neck, as if to grip her, choke her, and then he pulls away, his nostrils flaring and his eyes glinting. "Because she slept with another man? Because, Cissy, if you think he's morally correct," he murmurs, his voice low, "you really don't have a leg to stand on-"

"-no, I fuck others because you beg me to," she argues fiercely, her long nails catching his bare neck and raking beneath his hair, scoring thin pink lines across his shoulders, "not because I want to. I fuck men I can't stand. I fuck good men and bad men and handsome men and ugly men, and I kiss them and I fondle them and I suck them, and I do it because my husband - because the man I love - tells me it turns him on. I don't do it because I _like_ it," she hisses, "but because it is what he expects of his wife." 

He swallows hard - once, twice - and then he grabs her and he kisses her ferociously, his hands holding her flush against the wall, his body trapping her. "You do it for me," he says, and it's not quite a statement, and not quite a plea, but she answers in a way that's music to his ears.

"I do it only for your pleasure," she says, and then he pushes her to the floor and he takes her, and it's hard and it's brutal and it's without mercy - and the house elves can do no more than shield their eyes when they stumble across the master and mistress of the house rutting furiously in the corridor outside Abraxas' study.

* * *

That's how Severus finds them. When he lands at the Manor and asks Dobby to take him to Lucius, he expects to be guided towards his study, and his heart briefly flutters in his chest when Dobby leads him down the hallways towards Abraxas' study instead.

_Is it tonight? Am I too late?_

They round the corner, house elf first, Severus second - and when he sees his two friends in flagrante in the corridor, he can't school his shock. He glances at Dobby, and he realises that the house elf was already aware that Mr and Mrs Malfoy were behaving in such a way, his large eyes shielded by his hands. 

"Ahem," coughs Dobby, causing Narcissa to sit up, and Lucius to glance behind him at his house elf and visitor, "Master Severus to see you, sir," - and then before any admonishment can be made or any punishment issued, Dobby disappears, leaving Severus standing alone, his cheeks flaming and his gaze locked on the ornate ceiling.

"Malf, Cissy," he says in greeting, his gaze not wavering and his voice hoarse. "Sorry to interrupt."

"You," Lucius says dismissively, immediately turning his attention back to Narcissa causing her to writhe beneath him. 

He hadn't quite been sure what reception to expect, Severus, arriving at the Manor after such a prolonged absence, but it certainly wasn't that. He takes a step backwards, eyes still trained on the painted ceiling, when Lucius snaps his fingers loudly, causing Severus to look at him.

"If I were rather more pleased with you," Lucius says over his shoulder, his cloak not quite covering the back-and-forth movement his hips are making, "I would be ordering you to make yourself useful." At Severus' blank look, Lucius grins rakishly. "To get yourself down the other end and get your dick wet."

At his coarse comment, Narcissa's hand reaches up and grips her husband's neck, pulling him towards her - and Lucius permits himself to be guided down, his mouth close to Narcissa's ear. 

Severus can't hear what his friend is mumbling, but from the rapid breathing coming from Narcissa, he's certain it's filthy and sinful and almost certainly involves him. He stands, awkwardly, his hands thrust in his pockets, not quite sure of what's playing out in front of him or what his expected role is.  _There is no expectation_ , he reminds himself, _they didn't know you were going to visit_.

"But maybe that's the answer."

Lucius' sudden statement breaks his concentration, and Severus steps backwards as if to retreat from the scene, but Lucius immediately snaps his fingers again, not breaking his rhythm.

"No!  _No_ , Severus," he barks, "I did not dismiss you."

"Yeah, but Malf-"

"-but _nothing_! You're lucky I don't order you to fuck her, because that would be a suitable punishment for you, wouldn't it? Hmm?" Lucius' movements are faster now, and Severus is relieved that there's just enough of Lucius' cloak to cover most of what's playing out in front of him. "For most people, that would be a delight, a _pleasure_ , getting to fuck my beautiful wife - can you imagine what your lovely friend Avery would say if such an opportunity were gifted to him? But for you, Severus…" Lucius plants his hand against the wall and moves even faster, Narcissa gasping beneath him. " _You_ are a very different man.  _You_ are loyal to your witch, so if I were to force you, what would you do? Be disloyal to her, or to me? And it would be a punishment so delicious, wouldn't it? Because you do want to fuck Cissy, don't you? You always have." 

Lucius deliberately moves his cloak to one side, and Severus can see Narcissa's naked body beneath - her pale skin, the breasts he'd once fondled, and he can't find the words to disagree; she's as gorgeous as she's ever been, and he can feel himself stirring at the sight of her. 

"And that would make it all the more delightful," Lucius hisses, and Severus can't help but watch, his gaze transfixed as his two friends fuck before him, hot and hard and fast and breathless and Severus jams his hands into his pockets even more firmly. "Wouldn't it?" Lucius presses. "Knowing that you were relishing every minute, every second, yet in the back of your mind, the guilt would be eating away at you. You'd never be able to look at your witch again, would you, knowing what you've done, what you've spoilt between you?"

Severus doesn't answer, can't answer - and then thankfully the silence is suddenly broken by Narcissa, a graceful gasping, and then Lucius groans - a guttural, feral sound, and before he can challenge Severus further, Lucius is standing, brushing himself down, straightening his clothes and whipping his open cloak from around his shoulders and throwing it across his wife's naked body, where she lies before them on the floor. 

"You don't deserve to fuck her," Lucius sneers, pushing Severus down the hallway. "To my study. Now." 

* * *

The room is prickling with tension, and Lucius is pacing, walking back and forth like a caged animal. 

"I came here as soon as I realised."

"And what use is that to me?"

"I didn't know!" Severus runs his hands through his hair. "How was I meant to know? I'm not like you, I don't use Imperatum! Why didn't you notice it was different?" 

"I don't take it!"

"But the appearance, the odour-"

"-it's the same!" Lucius rages, slamming his fist against his desk. "It's the same as it's always been."

"Then if you weren't to know and you have it in your possession, how do you expect me to? I don't touch the stuff! I don't even brew it!"

Lucius stares down his nose at the younger wizard, and then starts to pace once more. "Where the fuck have you been hiding, anyway?"

"Haven't been hiding."

"No?" 

"Got arrested."

Lucius stops, and turns slowly to face him. "Arrested? Cavorting with Avery, were you? More Muggle fighting? Can you not help yourself? Is it that unfortunate Muggle blood that pumps around your body, that-"

"-aurors," Severus interrupts, angrily. "Aurors. I was arrested by aurors." 

"She knows, I take it?"

Severus shakes his head. "I realised about Imperatum, so I came straight here."

Lucius takes in a deep breath, and then seats himself behind his desk, as if suddenly gratified that Severus made his way to him before visiting Lily. "...how did you realise?"

Severus puts his hand on the seat opposite, and when Lucius waves his hand in agreement, he sits down. "Sluggy. I was locked up for quite a while and I wasn't in a great way. Moody released me to Dumbledore. Dumbledore put me in the hospital wing. Sluggy went to replenish the medical potions and saw me." It's a close enough summary. "We got talking."

"About the arrest?"

"About lots of things." Severus swallows, his fingers tapping on the edge of the desk. "And he made me realise that the potion I'd created...he made me realise it's not quite been working as I thought."

"Because of the Imperatum? It's somehow different?"

"Yes."

"Father has been very resistant these past few weeks," Lucius murmurs. "It's what was making me so keen to move things along to the next stage." 

"The deed was done?"

"Rabastan visited earlier today," Lucius says, "and the potion apparently delivered, but my father is much the same. Worse, if anything."

"I won't ask what you were doing fucking outside his door."

"It's my Manor," Lucius says, sharply, "and she's my wife, so if I want to fuck her outside his door, against his door, inside his study on his fucking desk right before his eyes, then that is up to me."

At Lucius' harsh tone, Severus' shoulders stiffen, and he sits still, not moving, barely breathing. "Yes, Malf," he eventually whispers.

"Yes, Malf," Lucius repeats sarcastically. "And now what do we do, Severus?"

Severus still doesn't move. "...try again?"

Lucius stands, and moves across the room, pacing back and forth once more. "And what? Provide Fletcher with another potion? Send it through the same channels and into Bast's hands? Coerce Cissy into sitting through another hellish afternoon with her appalling sister? And what then, if it fails once more?" He peers at Severus. "Do you even know what's in Imperatum these days? Do you know why it failed? Can you reliably counter it?"

"No," Severus starts, looking harassed, twisting in his seat to face his friend, "but I can experiment, I can try-"

"Yes, because we have weeks, months, years! Who cares what fate will befall us all when the Dark Lord finally brings my father before him, and he speaks tales of my duplicity?"

"I can be quick-"

"No," Lucius interrupts, harshly. "No, Severus, you cannot. You've already been missing for weeks-"

"I wasn't missing, I was arrested!"

"You keep shouting that at me as if it's anything to be proud of!" Lucius yells, slamming his fist against a cabinet door, causing the fine china inside to rattle. 

Severus looks at the floor. "...I'm not proud."

"And so you shouldn't be," Lucius sneers. "Caught by the Muggle police, caught by the aurors-"

"-I was stitched up," he argues, hotly. 

"Oh yes? By whom?"

Severus doesn't know then, whether to trust him or not. They'd become so close, just like it used to be, like it was in the days when he'd trail around behind Lucius, hanging on his every word, happy to take the scraps that fell from his table - and now it was like those dark days when he first went public with Lily, when he knew Lucius was looking at him with barely disguised disgust, appalled that he was sleeping with a Muggleborn. 

"If you know," Lucius warns, his voice low, "then be prepared to tell the Dark Lord. If I am to believe the tales, his fury when you did not appear to play your part was something to behold."

Severus is shaking, he knows he is, and he jams his hands in his pockets in the hope that Lucius won't see the tremble in his fingers, won't realise his fear.  _This isn't anything you didn't already know_ , he thinks, trying to calm himself.  _You felt his wrath through the mark._

"Fletcher. Fletcher sold me out," he says.

Lucius scoffs. "And why doesn't that surprise me?"

"Convinced me to procure exotic ingredients, and then Moody saw an opportunity and pulled me in."

"Charged?"

He nods. "Eventually."

"Eventually?"

"He held me for seventeen days."

"Seventeen days?" Lucius erupts, his face filling with anger. "Seventeen? And what was his justification for that?"

"Do the aurors even need justification these days?" Severus shrugs. "He wanted something bigger out of me, I think, but I didn't give anything up - not about you, not about Avery, not about the Dark Lord."

"Good. Such a tale might find you some grace in his presence." Lucius looks thoughtful. "Do I need to see if I can get you out of the charge?" 

Severus shakes his head. "It's not worth the risk. It's Azkaban for sure if I'm found guilty. The only thing that'll save me is an early admission of guilt." He shrugs. "Not much I can do - he's got me red-handed."

"Could try and scupper the evidence. What was it?"

"Snallygaster claws."

Lucius sucks in a deep breath. "Nasty. They'll have those under lock and key."

"It's fine," Severus says, in a tone of voice that suggests that it isn't. "Three months suspended isn't so bad." He gives a tight grin. "Not as much as what the Muggles gave me."

"Harsh given the circumstances. First offence?"

"Second, if you count the incident with Borage. Which they will."

"Ah, yes, I'd forgotten," Lucius nods. "And it was Fletcher who set you up, you say? Well, at the very least, I think we can arrange to repay the favour. Leave that with me." Lucius takes a deep breath. "But that doesn't resolve my little issue, does it?" 

"If there's no time for it be a potion," Severus says, hesitantly, "then it has to be a spell."

"Not an Unforgivable," Lucius says, quickly. 

"I thought those were your specialty."

Lucius gives a nasty smile. "Oh and they were, once upon a time. But I can't have the aurors flocking here and checking my wand, can I?"

Severus swallows hard, the implication clear. "I can't cast an Unforgivable, Malf."

"Not got the bollocks?"

It's a goad. He's been here before with Lucius - just like when he tricked him into revealing Bean's presence.  _Don't fall for it_ , he thinks. 

"Probably not got the power to perform it," Severus says, finally. "You've got to mean it, yeah? And your father?" He shrugs. "He's not that important to me."

"No, no, you misunderstand. You've got to mean the spell," Lucius corrects, moving to stand behind him. "You've got to feel that righteous fury thundering through your veins. You've got to want to hurt someone, want to inflict that pain." He lowers his mouth to behind Severus' ear, his voice low. "You need to imagine it's _your_ father, or one of those Gryffindors who tormented you so, Black or Potty or Loopy or whatever the other ones are called."

 _The wolf_.

Severus turns then, his eyes wide. "No...not an Unforgivable," he says, excitedly. "A creature! Not magic, an attack by a creature!"

Lucius scoffs. "What, here? With Draco fast asleep?" He shakes his head. "Absolutely not."

"Take Draco out."

"I can't keep taking Draco out, can I?" Lucius argues, his voice growing louder. "It's a bit suspicious that attempts on my father's life keep being made when my son is absent."

"...yeah." Severus taps his fingers against his wand. "What if… What if we faked it? Made out as if something had gained entry? And your father bravely fought it off?"

Lucius straightens, his expression thoughtful. "I like it." He stands, his chest out, his hand waving through the air. "Abraxas Malfoy, grandfather, hero, fallen warrior." He grins. "It has an air of sophistication about it. Might even find himself in the running for a medal. Posthumous, of course."

"We've missed full moon."

"Doesn't bother Greyback."

Severus winces. "You want to set up Greyback?"

"Not particularly," Lucius muses. "He's hardly an enemy I'd relish. Not with Draco and Cissy to think of."

"Lupin then," Severus says, "but we'll have to wait. It's only been a few days."

"We can't wait. Father needs to die tonight."

"Then how?" Severus demands. "If you can't wait for a full moon-"

"You said yourself, it doesn't need to be real." Lucius strides back and forth, flicking his wand between his fingers, and then he grins. "Bast didn't see my father earlier - he left the bottle for him."

"So?"

"That little slicing spell you were showing Avery," Lucius muses. "Can you make it look like a gash? A slash from a claw?"

Severus grins as Lucius' flicks his wand, and a cushion spirals into his hands. "I can practice until it does."

"Good boy," Lucius smiles. "I'll prepare the cellar."

"The cellar? Not his study?"

"Not if Bast was in there this afternoon," Lucius says. "Besides, it reads well, doesn't it? A dark creature breaking in and skulking around in the depths of our beloved family home? And my father, doing a stock take of his wine collection, not trusting my input?" He gives a feral grin. "It rather writes itself. We've not been speaking of late, you see, Severus. I've become rather suspicious that he intends to write me out of his will, so we had a blazing argument - to which the house elves will attest. I haven't seen him for a few days but the Manor is large, and his sulking is legendary. Then I have someone over - I don't know, someone interesting, a nice keen young auror who is looking to make a name for themselves. Thicknesse, maybe?"

"Shacklebolt?"

"Perhaps. Would he accept an invitation from me? Perhaps not. Dawlish might."

"They were the ones who found me-"

"Who? Thicknesse?" 

"No, Shacklebolt and Dawlish," Severus says. "And Bickerstaff was watching over me."

"Bickerstaff?" Lucius repeats, pursing his lips. "Do I know that name?"

"Invite them all over," Severus says, earnestly. "Make them think it's about my arrest."

"And then I shall send Dobby to procure us a bottle of Father's wine - only the best for the auror department, you understand."

"Naturally."

"And to everyone's shock, Dobby discovers dear departed Daddy." Lucius smiles triumphantly. "By jove, Severus, I do believe we've got it." He taps the cushion Severus is holding. "Get practicing that spell of yours. The night is yet young."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One thing I realised earlier - I sometimes am so enthusiastic to reply to the content of reader's comments, I am utterly useless at saying thank you for posting them in the first place.
> 
> So I just wanted to say that. Writing this much is a labour of love, and hearing what you all think of each chapter is an incredible gift, and makes the hours spent worth it. I appreciate all the comments here, and the reblogs on Tumblr - it truly makes me want to write more. 
> 
> And I just realised I hadn't said thank you for that for ages. So thank you. :))))


	81. Deliberate challenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains non-con.

* * *

"Severus! What on earth are you doing to our best cushions?"

He jolts, immediately lowering his wand and sliding it into his sleeve, guilt covering his face. "Cissy, I didn't hear you coming in."

"Evidently," she smiles, glancing around the room, and flicking her just-washed hair over her shoulder. "No Lucius? Does he know that you're venting your frustrations on his soft furnishings?"

"I didn't… He asked…" Severus trails off, and shrugs helplessly.

"I see," she says, in a tone that suggests that she doesn't. She flashes him a small smile. "I shall assume that I do not wish to know."

He smiles back, relieved that she sensed his discomfort and chose not to press the issue. "Something like that." He quickly casts a quiet _Reparo_ spell at the cushion, and the surface material instantly knits back together. He tosses it on the armchair nearest to the fire. "See. Good as new." 

"I thought he'd be in here with you." When Severus doesn't respond, she fiddles absently with her hair. "Lucius, I mean." 

"I know."

She sighs at his non-answer. "...am I to understand from your silence that I should also wish not to know that either?"

This time, Severus nods in response. "Yes."

"Honestly, I despair of the pair of you," she says, tightening the belt around her silk dressing gown and then slowly settling herself into the seat opposite Lucius' desk, her legs carefully crossed in a grand display of modesty. "How does my mirror cope?"

Severus frowns, his dark eyes narrowed in confusion. "Your mirror?"

"My mirror. My opposite number. Your better half, Severus."

"Oh! Lily!"

"Yes, how is she? I haven't seen her for weeks."

 _You and me both_ , Severus thinks - and now the guilt of his decision to see Lucius first grows inside him, creeping across his skin like a insect crawling across his bare back, cold legs skittering, ticklish and uncomfortable. 

"...got arrested," he says, eventually, figuring that half an explanation is better than none at all.

Narcissa's hand immediately rises to her mouth, and she stands. "Lily?"

"No," he says, rolling his eyes, " _me_. I haven't seen her for weeks either."

"Then what are you doing here, you silly boy?" 

Her harsh tone causes him to take a half step backwards, recoiling at her annoyance. "...I had something I needed to tell Malf." 

It sounds feeble to his own ears.  _And what else can you say? She doesn't know about Abraxas. You can't tell her it was life and death_.

"Oh, Severus. Don't you go sacrificing your relationship for my selfish husband," Narcissa says, a little more calmly. "I'm sure whatever you needed to tell him can wait." She waves her hand. "And as he isn't here, this isn't you telling him anything, is it?"

"...no."

"So what are you still doing here? Go home to your witch. I'm sure she's desperate to see you." Her smile is kind again. "If I were in her shoes, I would be."

"He's asked me…" Severus swallows hard. "Lucius needs me to help him with something."

"Does he really? Well, he and I had other plans for this evening before you turned up, so I suggest you go home and help Lily with the something you've left her with, and I will entertain Lucius."

"I can't-"

"You can."

"But Malf-"

"Leave Lucius to me," she says, firmly. "He's in a ridiculous mood this evening. It's best you're not here to earn his wrath."

Severus gives a half laugh. "Too late for that."

"What did you do to get yourself arrested? Something for Lucius?"

"No. Got caught carrying," he says, noting her half sigh of relief that her husband hadn't been involved.

"Prohibited items?"

"Snallygaster claws"

"Oh, Severus."

"I know," he mutters. "It was such an obvious set-up and I was incredibly stupid to fall for it."

Narcissa winces. "And don't tell me, Lucius has offered to help you in exchange for…" she trails off and waves her hand, "...whatever it is you're doing with these cushions?"

 _Close enough._ "Something like that."

She eyes him carefully, gazing between his wand and the now repaired cushion. "Does Reparo work on humans?"

He instantly flushes. "...sorry, what?"

"Merlin, Severus," she breathes, "you need to work on your composure if you're going to go through with whatever he's tasked you with." 

"I don't know what you mean."

"You do," she says, urgency filling her voice. "You're not like him, Severus. I know you think you are - I know you admire him, and I know you think he's impressive and dangerous and powerful-"

"Cissy, come on-" he interrupts, a blush filling his face. 

"-but you'll be the one who takes the fall for him."

"He's my friend."

"Some friend," she argues, "getting you to practice knife spells with your wand, and where's he, hiding away? What's this, the next attempt on his father's life, now that your poisoning failed?" 

Severus falters, his mouth gaping slightly at her astute reasoning. "...what do you know about that?"

"Cissy," Lucius booms, entering the room loudly, "what are you doing in here with Severus? I thought you were showering?"

"I've finished," she says, pointing towards her still wet hair. "I thought _we_ were having an evening alone together? Or have you thrown me over for Severus?"

Severus stares at his friend who has stilled - not moving, not blinking - and the tension in the room suddenly feels oppressive, like a thick smog smothering them. It's overwhelming, and he wants to open his mouth and gasp for air, as if he's drowning. Both he and Narcissa watch Lucius keenly, Lucius' pale grey eyes fixed on a spot on the far wall, above both of their heads. 

Severus' Legilimency skills are still raw - far more embryonic than Lily's, having spent his time focusing on Occlumency instead - but there's not even the slightest temptation to attempt to skim Lucius' thoughts; not through fear of being caught, but because his stony expression tells Severus all he needs to know. 

 _He doesn't know how to control this_. 

Severus dares to glance towards Narcissa, and then he spies it, spies what's caused Lucius to pause - that hint of mischief in her eyes, of daring and deviousness - and Severus knows then; he knows that this was a set up, a deliberate challenge, a means of antagonising Lucius so he focuses his attention on her, and not on him, and not for the first time that evening, Severus feels a rush of affection towards Narcissa.

Lucius breaks the silence by striding forwards, and then he taps the surface of his solid wooden desk. "Up," he says, his voice barely more than a whisper, but the room is so quiet, his solitary word seems to echo in Severus' ears.

Narcissa glances at her husband, and then at Severus, and then back at Lucius. Lucius tilts his head, his expression hard, and his eyebrows start to raise at her continued inaction.

Severus watches, fascinated, as Narcissa quickly reacts to his fierce look, and gracefully lifts herself to sit on the corner of the desk, legs still crossed and now hanging over the edge, facing Severus and with her back to her husband.

Lucius stalks behind her, back and forth, as if he's mulling something over in his mind. Finally, he draws to a halt, and with his gaze firmly locked onto Severus, he places his large hands on her waist. "What were you talking about behind my back?" he murmurs, his tone deliberately low.

"I asked him about Lily," she answers quickly.

"My wife is missing your witch," Lucius says, his voice a little louder, and his gaze not leaving Severus. 

"So she said."

"I'm not the only one. Severus is missing his witch too," Narcissa interjects, and once more, the room falls utterly silent.

Severus glances at his shoes, trying to keep his composure. 

 _She's doing this for you - so you can escape_.

"Look up, Severus," Lucius instructs, his voice dangerously low once more. 

Severus does, his eyes tracing a path up Narcissa's long bare legs to the hem of the silk gown, and then up to where Lucius' hands rest on her waist, and then higher and higher until his eyes first meet Narcissa, whose expression is blank, and then Lucius, who looks irritated.

"Good," Lucius snaps, and then he moves his hands from Narcissa's sides, sliding them to the front of her robe. As he starts to unthread the knot on the belt of the gown, her breath hitches - and Severus doesn't need Legilimency to sense her silent scream of protest.

Severus doesn't want to watch this - it's exactly what he'd complained of when he discussed deviancy with Lily; he doesn't want to watch someone forced against their will, and Narcissa's body language is stiff and uncomfortable. He wants to tear his eyes away, to look back at the floor, to step from the room - but Lucius stares fiercely at him, the challenge clear on his face, his nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed - so Severus quails under his scrutiny and keeps his head up, watching unhappily as the scene unfolds before him.

It's the right response. Lucius smiles, a slow and self-satisfied smile that gradually spreads wider on his cheeks, and then he presses a chaste kiss against the bone of Narcissa's jaw, just below her ear. She arches back towards him, exposing her neck to him, and Severus can almost hear her heart hammering. Least, he thinks it's her heart, but the way his is thundering in his chest, it could very well be his own.

Severus continues to watch the scene unfolding before him, his eyes locked on Lucius' fingers which toy threateningly with the knot, teasing and then retreating.

 _Don't don't don't. Don't do this, Malf_. 

"Why so shy, Cissy?" Lucius murmurs, giving a tentative pull on the belt, his threat clear.

"Lucius," she breathes, her hands fixed by her sides, and Severus doesn't miss the flex of her thighs as she tenses, pressing her legs together more tightly.

"It's nothing that Severus hasn't seen before," Lucius says, softly, his fingers holding the ends of the belt more firmly, and then slowly starting to pull, steadily easing the knot apart.

Instinctively, Narcissa moves her hands over his, preventing him from untying the belt, and holding the gown together.

Severus seems to realise before she does that this is the wrong reaction, and his eyes widen as Lucius peels her hands away and then roughly tugs the belt open, exposing her naked body.

* * *

Severus shakes the empty glass again in a silent request for more, and the barman gives him a quelling look. 

"You've been here half an hour, and that's your fourth."

"I've got the money, haven't I?"

"Takes twenty minutes to hit you," says another man at the bar, who has been nursing the same half pint for the entire time Severus has been drinking. "You should take a breather, see how you feel in a few minutes. Cost you a fortune drinking like that." 

"Another," Severus demands.

There's a pregnant pause, and Severus holds his note aloft, practically begging the barman to take it from him and place it into his till.

"One," agrees the barman, finally, taking Severus' money before reaching for the solitary bottle of whisky on the back shelf, "and then you're done for the night, lad."

* * *

He might be done at that pub, but he isn't done for the night - not by a long shot. Loose coins jangle in his pocket as he walks to the next pub, and the next - and it's only as he's drunkenly swaying at the door of the fourth establishment that he thinks better of entering. 

_You'll end up in a ditch if you carry on._

He wants to tell himself to fuck off - he knows that this is a destructive way to spend his evening, but that's exactly what he intended, so why stop now? As soon as he marched down the gravel path of Malfoy Manor, he knew he'd end up in a backwater pub and demolishing the shelf of spirits. Whisky was expensive, but its effects were quicker than beer. He didn't want to indulge in a session ale - didn't have the bladder or the time.

 _You were meant to be seeing Lily_.

He balls his fists as he stalks down the street.

_There's still time to see her, if you go now._

And then he gives an anguished laugh - a feral cry of pain, as if the events of the last few weeks have built up within him. Of being locked away and isolated, of a new criminal record hanging over his head and another court case, the newly discovered pressure of needing to marry Lily before Bean appears for Bean's protection, of almost losing his apprenticeship after all those months of acting and having to confess all to the notoriously untrustworthy Sluggy, fearing what the Dark Lord's reaction will be when he finally gets hold of him, of missing Lily and Bean - and then there's a dead weight in the pit of his stomach, because he doesn't feel as if he can go and see Lily, not now. Not after seeing that between Lucius and Narcissa. 

It was bad enough when he arrived, but at least that was well underway before he'd turned up. He's seen them fucking before - he's always been an exhibitionist, Lucius. He's seen her fucking Lucius, and he's seen her fucking other men - a few of Lucius' closest friends, but Severus knows the rumours, and he knows the true figure is likely far higher. And he's always known what Lucius was like - he saw him Imperiusing others in the common room, fell victim to it himself even. He's been witness to Lucius' deviancy taking a more sexual edge, coercing Narcissa to do his bidding, and Severus swallows hard as he recognises that it's not dissimilar to the dynamic he's aware exists between his own parents - the very same dynamic that sends a thrill through him when he thinks of Lily bending to his will.

 _Guilt_.  _This is guilt_.

He straightens his jacket and strides through the doorway.

* * *

He twists his glass in his hands, the amber liquid gently sloshing from side to side. He's not sat at the bar in this pub; he couldn't take the stares or the questions, and couldn't trust himself to keep his mouth shut and his hands in his pockets. He's slumped at a corner table, on a high backed bench - practically a pew.

 _A pew. Keep this up and you'll be on your knees all night praying to a porcelain god_.

Speaking of gods, he needs to go to church, and the thought makes him take a sip of his drink. Needs to arrange the banns, he remembers that much - remembers the muted excitement of an impending marriage, and the questions every Sunday, delivered with solemn grace from the pulpit, but all whilst the congregation was full of smiles. He can remember the good-natured jostling between his father and Mick Price when it was announced that Tina was going to marry Mickey - the punching of arms, and ruffling of hair as the grown men pushed each other through the graveyard outside.

 _Ain't got a month_ , he thinks, twisting the glass over and over again.  _Could try and Confund the vicar_.  _Make him think he's announced it three weeks on the run_.  _But what about the congregation? Can't Confund them all, even if they're only Muggles._

He drains his glass, digs in his pocket for his wallet, and then heads to the bar. 

"Same again."

* * *

The more he mulls on it, the more he's certain he can solve the marriage problem - as long as he can convince Lily that their parents can't attend. Find somewhere small, somewhere they've never been to before and will never return to again, cast a few spells over both the paperwork and whoever's holding the pen, and nothing can go wrong. Granted, it's not the wedding he'd dreamt of when he first thought of proposing, and he's certain it's not close to the wedding she'd dreamt of - but if she knows it's to keep Bean safe, he's certain she'll agree.

_You should go and talk to her. The sooner you can explain it to her, the quicker you can move._

He takes a sip of his drink. He doesn't like this whisky - it's harsh and it feels as if it's sitting uneasily in his stomach.

 _That's not the flavour of whisky, idiot_ , he berates himself.  _It's sitting uneasily because of the amount you've drunk._

He pushes the glass across the wooden table, slightly out of reach.

_Is it the amount you've drunk, or is it that guilt eating away at you again?_

He's been trying to push the events of the evening out of his mind, and it had briefly worked, but now that he thinks about seeing Lily, the image of Narcissa is burned into his brain.

_She did it to help you. She did it to get you out of there, to stop Lucius' plan. She did it to get you back to Lily before you and Lucius did something stupid and reckless and irreversible to Abraxas - before you both got yourselves carted off to Azkaban. And how are you repaying Cissy's efforts, sat here and drinking yourself into a stupor instead of going to Lily?_

* * *

It's fucked him up, he knows that much, and his inner voice is muttering at him, getting louder and louder as he walks.  _What Lucius did, it's not the same - it's not the same as between me and Lil_. 

There's a dissenting voice in the back of his mind, pressing him.  _Are you sure? Are you sure it's not exactly the same? Are you sure that's not what you're doing with her?_

He sways as he walks through Cokeworth, his fists stuffed in his jacket pockets.  _It's not the same_ , he thinks, trying desperately to quell the argument raging in his head.  _I told her this. I explained. We talked about it. She understands that she needs to consent. I haven't done anything she didn't want me to._

He rounds the corner unsteadily, stepping off the kerb and then taking a step or two on the road before making it back onto the verge.  _Did Cissy ever consent? Maybe it was staged, maybe Malf staged it, maybe there's an agreement already between them? Why else would she come through to his study dressed in just a gown?_

It makes him feel better for half a pace, but he soon shakes the thought from his head.  _You're a grown man, Severus, stop believing in fairytales. She walked around in a dressing gown because it's her house, and he's her husband, and you're their best friend. She trusted him, and she trusted you, and he abused her, and you stood there and did nothing._

He takes his hands out of his pockets and presses them against his temples, as if he wants to wrench the vision out of his head. 

 _You stood there and did nothing_.  _You did nothing. Nothing. You stood there and did nothing._

He's paused now, bent over at the waist.

 _Coward_.

_I'm not a coward._

_Coward, coward, coward, coward, coward._

_I'm not a coward!_

_You're scared of him. Scared of standing up to him, scared of saying no to him, aren't you? You should've done something. Said something._

He crouches down on his haunches, fingertips pressed against the ground, steadying his drunken form. 

_There's no talking to him when he's like that. He's always been like that. You've known that for years. She knew that when she married him._

_And what's that supposed to mean? It's her fault now?_

"Fuck!" The word bursts from his mouth without him realising, and he groans, trying to stop himself from yelling in the street. 

 _It doesn't make any of this right_ , he thinks, and the words are spiralling around his head now.  _It doesn't matter that Malf's always acted like this, or Cissy's always accepted it. What matters is that I stood there and watched._

_Yes, you stood there and watched it all unfold, didn't you? How long did you stand there, Severus?_

"I couldn't fucking do anything," he hisses, his nose almost pressed to the ground, drunkenly slurring at the poorly laid tarmac pavement. 

_You didn't want to do anything._

"Shut up, shut up," he says, grasping his head again, kneeling low on the ground. "Shut up."

_You didn't want to do anything because you were getting off on it. You got off on him fucking her, and you got off on him exposing her, controlling her, forcing her._

"No."

 _You stood there and watched it all. And you were hard_.  _Deny it, Severus,_ and the admonishing voice in his head is practically screaming at him, taunting him.  _She saved you not once, but twice, and how did you repay her? You watched him assaulting her and-_

"No, no, no." His voice is strained and desperate now, begging himself to stop this train of thought.

 _-you stood there with a hard-on_.

"Fuck!" he screams, and he punches the ground as hard as he can. He's drunk so much alcohol, the sensations are dulled - he knows there's pain running through his fingers and up his arm, but it's like hearing underwater - as if it's happening in another world, so even though he knows he's going to regret this tomorrow, he pulls his arm back and he punches the ground over and over, and he doesn't stop, not even when he hears the sickening pop of his smallest finger being pushed out of its socket. 


	82. Daddy's home

Severus sits on the ground for a long time, his mind swirling, struggling with what he should do next. He desperately wants to be with Lily, but at the same time, he can't let her see him like this - he's meant to be her rock, and he's let her down yet again.  _She needs a man, not a stupid little boy_ , he thinks.  _Look at you - drunk, bloodied, upset._   _Pull yourself together. She needs you. Bean needs you_. 

He flexes his fingers experimentally, and winces at the dull ache that throbs through his knuckles and radiates down his little finger.  _It'd be worse if you were sober_ , he thinks - and then he gives a half laugh.  _This never would've happened if you were sober_. He stares at the awkwardly bent finger for several minutes, turning his hand over, as if debating whether it's a penance he should carry - a just reward for his earlier inaction.

He considers this for a long time, but then he realises that if he walks around with a broken finger, he'll be asked how it happened - and even if he lies about its origin, the injury will be a permanent nasty reminder of the events of the evening. 

 _You need to forget it happened_ , he thinks.  _You can't carry an injury like this. Malf will ask and Dumbledore will ask and Sluggy will ask and Lily will ask. Lily! And what do you tell your wife-to-be about what happened between Malf and his wife? About her friend? About how you watched, and how you enjoyed and…_

 _No._ It's too dangerous - too much of a giveaway.  _There'll be opportunity for penance another time_ , he thinks, slowly drawing his wand over his battered hand, sucking in a hiss as the wood skitters down his crooked finger.  _Thank fuck I'm a wizard_. It's not the first broken knuckle he's sustained, nor is it the first that he's mended himself, and when he's finished, he holds his hand in the air, peering at his swollen digits under the glow of the streetlight.  _Not quite as good as new, but close enough_. His skin is starting to bruise, but he can do little about it - he'll need a story for Lily, but the discolouring will disappear sooner rather than later, and then he can put this whole sorry state of affairs behind him.

With his finger mended, he's calmed a little now - the adrenaline that was coursing through him has dissipated, and the sharp edge of his anger and guilt and shame has dulled. He sits quietly for a while longer, contemplating his next move, and then, decision made, he pulls a vial out of the inside pocket of his jacket.  _There's nothing to fear_ , he reassures himself, _it was just Muggle alcohol_ \- and before he can overthink it and fret about Imperatum and its various interactions, he knocks back his potion in a smooth movement. 

It was the right decision. The effect is almost instantaneous, sending him on a familiar but dramatic cycle of intoxication, pushing him rapidly through his hangover. It's a horrible few moments, and it leaves him breathless but sober. It's disconcerting to move so rapidly through the various stages of drunkenness, but as the potion wears off, he immediately stands, leaving himself little recovery time. 

 _You came here for a reason_ , he reminds himself, _not to loiter on a pavement_ \- and then, with a quick glance over his shoulder to check for Muggles, he casts a series of half-remembered spells about his person; freshening his breath and smoothing the creases from his shirt. 

He remembers only too well the day he'd learnt these spells. It hadn't been something that had held particular interest for him, but Pomfrey had summoned all of the boys from his year, and amongst a lecture about washing thoroughly and how they should make use of the provided facilities, she'd explained a few useful charms for moments where they were legitimately in a fix - being unable to shower before the next class after an overrunning Quidditch match, or wanting to have confidence before kissing someone at the end of a ball. 

Severus wouldn't have mentioned it to anyone else, but he had made good use of the spells during his earlier teenage years, not least when he was being teased about Malf and he was trying his best to avoid showering with any sort of an audience. It had been a while since he'd had to fall back on them, and he'd never before thanked Pomfrey under his breath as he did now. He simply didn't want to risk heading back to Hogwarts just to wash, nor did he want to return to the Manor, or even run the gauntlet of receiving an unwelcome reception at his parents - but neither could he bring himself to turn up unannounced on her parents' doorstep, dishevelled and smelling of alcohol.

 _Lily_. He wanted Lily. So he straightened himself, and stood a little taller, and then he lightly jogged towards her street.  _Lily_.  _Finally_. 

* * *

She's tired, Lily - she has been for weeks. Ever since Severus' absence spun into weeks rather than days, she's struggled to sleep - it played on her mind during the day, but the nights were exponentially more difficult, as every possible scenario buried into her brain, each more troublesome than the last. Every night, it took hours for her to drift off, and it seemed that as soon as she started to sleep, Bean would invariably kick out and settle on her bladder - and as soon as she got up to use the toilet, the whole sorry sleepless cycle would start over again. Her troubled gaze had so regularly traced a path on the ceiling between lampshade and window, she was almost surprised there wasn't a visible trail on the paintwork. 

She's slept a little easier since meeting with Potter and Lupin. It's small comfort, but comfort all the same, to know that Severus made it safely to Mundungus Fletcher, and hadn't been captured whilst carrying Wolfsbane - but she was stuck as to where to go next. The Malfoys were the obvious answer, or perhaps an Order meeting where she could hope to corner Dumbledore, but Severus' insistent words kept ringing in her ears. 

 _He thought something like this would happen_ , she thinks.  _He can't be long now. You've stuck it out this far._ She tries to keep focused, but the skin around her nails has been shredded, and she can't seem to stop herself from running her hand anxiously over her bump. Lily's certain that Bean's picked up on her distress - not least because their tiny child's magic had started to flicker and stutter, rather than feeling like the smooth spirals that used to emanate from her midriff. 

 _It might be nothing_ , she keeps reminding herself.  _Maybe all magical children do this_. She's asked her mother, but she couldn't recall anything similar - but then, her parents hadn't been expecting a magical child, so they wouldn't have been looking for such an expression. It gave Lily reason to pause, as when she mentioned it, her parents looked astonished - and she couldn't help but wonder then if they couldn't feel the magic rolling off her child, or even herself or Severus - or if they could, whether their non-magical brains were somehow suppressing it, holding it deep in their subconcious. Whatever was going on, neither her parents nor the Muggles at the hospital were any use.  _Narcissa_ , she thinks.  _Narcissa would know_. 

It had been another long day, with still no word from Severus. She was becoming tired of it all - sick of the lies and sick of hiding, sick of being half in one world and half in another, sick of the way her parents glanced at her with pity and concern in equal measure - all whilst encouraging her to support herself, and she knew that they were trying to prepare her for a life where this was the status quo; no Severus in sight. It infuriated her - she wanted to be focused on the things she should be sick and tired of by rights; tired of aching legs and swollen feet, sick with worry about their baby and whether Bean would be healthy and happy and whether there's anything more she could've done - but instead, she's fretting about Severus, and it makes her so angry because she knows that in a million alternate universes, he'd be the constant by her side, possessive and unwilling to let anyone else take care of her. 

 _If we'd been born twenty years earlier_ , she can't help but think, _then I'd have had chance to have a normal pregnancy. Right now, Severus would be at work and I'd be resting, and he'd come in with a grin on his face, kicking his boots off by the door. He'd chastely kiss me hello, and then he'd shower, making sure he'd got rid of any experimental potion residue. Then he'd walk back in - probably wearing those awful shorts_ , she concedes in her daydream with a smile _, and then he'd wrap his arms around me, and ask me about my day, and tell me about his, and then he'd cook for us both, and we'd sit together and read until the candles flickered, the flame hitting the pool of liquid wax - and then he'd send me to bed whilst he locked up and doused the candles, and then when he opened the door to the bedroom and saw me leaning against the headboard, he'd beam and cheerfully slide in next to me, his hand smoothing over Bean, and our lips touching._

She couldn't sit downstairs any longer - not now the phone had rung and she was having to listen to her mother's side of a tedious conversation with Petunia. She'd kissed her father good night, and headed up the stairs.  _You'd have sat reading together_ , she thinks, remembering her daydream, and she pulls out one of Severus' magical books. She sits on the bed, her hand trailing through the pages, touching where his hand had once been, her breath catching as she leaned in closer and the scent of his favourite ink spiralled from the page where he'd scrawled notes and jotted down his thoughts.

She would never tell him so, but his additional commentary was her favourite part of reading his textbooks - she loved seeing how his mind worked, and how he drew conclusions from the information on the pages, and how he revised his thoughts as he progressed through a book. Most of all, she loved it when she stumbled across a rare strikethrough, always accompanied by a hasty revision - his letters always poorly formed, and she could feel the speed at which he'd clarified his thinking. She could feel his passion and his enthusiasm for his work spilling off the page, and she could almost see him bent over the text, his shoulders rounded and his quill scratching furiously as his hand struggled to keep pace with his thoughts. 

Lily was lost in another daydream, startled out of it by the noise of her parents locking up downstairs, and she quickly takes the opportunity to visit the bathroom. She takes one last lingering inhale of the pages of Severus' book, and then slams it shut and lies back on her bed, with a stern word to Bean - _I love you, baby, but please try and lie on a different organ tonight. Mummy's so tired_. She pulls one of the pillows flush against her front, holding it tightly. It's not a match for her partner, but she felt it was more comforting than her arms being empty for yet another night, and she'd willed herself to drift off instead of fretting.  _You can make it like that daydream,_ she thinks, her eyes firmly closed.  _Severus coming in from work. Both reading together. Little Bean resting in my arms. Severus leaning over and kissing Bean's forehead. Nearly there now, Lil - just get through the next few weeks_. 

* * *

Her house is shrouded in darkness, but he doesn't falter in his step. It's late - long past her parents' bedtimes, and with Lily so heavily pregnant, he reasons that she will have retired to bed much earlier in the evening than she would've when they were living together as a couple. He makes short work of scaling the gate, and slinks down the side of the house until he reaches the back garden. He immediately gazes upwards towards her window, and frowns when he sees it ajar. 

 _You might be in Cokeworth, Lil_ , he thinks, disapprovingly, _but leaving it open?_ It's summer, but the night isn't overly warm, and he can't fathom why she'd take a risk for a spot of fresh air - not when there are dark wizards and dangerous enemies all around. He leans into the drainpipe, and scales the wall - he's grown again, he realises, as his fingertips brush the sill. He smiles to himself as he steadies - he can remember when he was shorter than Lily, and it felt like he was climbing forever. Now, he's at her window within a couple of stretches. He reaches again, expecting to grip the sill and swing himself in, but an invisible force rejects him, knocking him back against the pipe. 

He slides clumsily down the wall, scraping his palms on the bricks, and despite his ungraceful descent, he beams.  _Clever witch_ , he thinks, wiping his hands on the backs of his trousers and reaching for his wand. This time, as he ascends, he casts squarely at the gap between sill and window, and he can feel her layers of magic thrumming back towards him. He frowns, pipe gripped in one hand, wand in the other, concentration etched across his face as he starts to unthread the protection charms. Her spellwork is impressive - _it always is_ \- and it takes him several attempts to untangle the complicated chain of spells. He smiles in triumph as the last charm breaks, a line of sweat beading in his eyebrows, and he's certain that if he wasn't so intimately familiar with her style of casting, it would've taken him three or four times as long to gain entry. 

He jumps back off the wall, slides his wand back up his sleeve and then takes a few breaths before scrambling back up the drainpipe. He lunges for the window, and hoists himself in - and when he finally stands in her room, he can't help but grin.  _Lily!_ He stands for a moment, watching her slumbering form, covers half-strewn over her body, bare feet sticking out from beneath them, her arms wrapped around a pillow that she's clinging to her front. He quietly closes the window, and then unlaces his boots and removes his socks, balancing uneasily on one foot and then the other. He tidies his footwear beneath the window and then he glances at Lily. She hasn't moved, so he continues to undress, stripping off his shirt, then trousers, and he lays each piece of clothing carefully over his boots.

The room already feels stuffy, and reluctantly, he cracks open the window again - but not before pulling his wand from his discarded shirt and casting a few charms at the framework. Nothing as complex as Lily's spellwork, but they won't need charms like that - not now he's here to protect her. He jabs his wand into his open left boot, and then he quietly treads towards the bed. He stands for a long moment, gazing at her in the faint moonlight glowing through the thin curtains, and then he eases himself into the bed behind her.

Severus' breath catches as Lily stirs at his movement, but she doesn't appear to wake. She kicks a couple of times, twists her shoulders, and a tiny murmur escapes from her lips - but then she stills once more. He waits for a while, half in the bed, half out, and then he slowly moves again, his nose getting closer and closer to the back of her head. The smell of her is utterly intoxicating - he's always been entranced by the combination of her floral soap and shampoo and hairspray and perfume, and having been separated from her for so long, it's all he can do to stop himself from burying his face in her hair and drawing a deep breath. 

Instead, he presses himself against her, his body flush with hers, listening carefully for any change in her breathing, any sign that she's recognised that he's with her - but she doesn't move. He waits, patiently, and then he can't help himself - can't help but snake his hand across her stomach, and a slow smile spreads across his face as his palm rests on her skin.

 _Hello Lily_ , he thinks.  _Hello Bean_. 

* * *

She groans as she starts to stir, and instinctively, her hand reaches down to her bump. Bean's twirling and twisting, and as her hand moves lower, the magic spiralling from her is throbbing with an intensity that causes her to gasp. She opens her eyes just as her hand brushes Severus', and immediately she twists, tentative joy filling her face as she realises her partner is lying alongside her.

 _No wonder Bean was practically doing flips - Daddy's home_.

She turns over and trails her hand across Severus' face, the soft pads of her fingers tracing across his scratchy stubble, as if she can't believe that he's real - and then she bends her head and kisses his cheek, softly at first, then more firmly, and then she kisses down to his lips and as she moves her mouth against his, he finally stirs. 

He doesn't speak, but reaches his hand behind her neck, running his fingers into her hair, and holds her firmly in place as he kisses her soundly. She's breathless when he finally permits her to pull away, and she pauses, drinking him in, as if she's terrified that she's hallucinating and none of this is real, and if she closes her eyes for a moment, he'll disappear - and then she inclines her head, intending to lean back towards him to kiss him again. Severus reads her movement perfectly, and in the same moment, pulls her to him, holding her flush against his body and twisting his tongue against hers. There's fire within his kiss - a passion that's tinged with desperation, and it reminds her of the night that they were reunited, when he took her against the wall, and she meets him with equal fervor, hoping to leave him as keen and wanting as she finds herself.

They kiss over and over, and he settles them down, face-to-face, nose-to-nose, lips touching. She wants to lie in his arms for the rest of the night, his silken voice murmuring in her ear and his fingers trailing patterns up and down her body, but Bean has settled uncomfortably in this new position, and she gasps into Severus' mouth before pulling away. 

He looks stricken, alarmed at the way she pulls from him, and he sits up. "I'm sorry," he starts, but before he can continue she presses a firm kiss against his lips.

"It's not you. Bean's kicking my bladder," she explains, quickly, "I need the loo." She stands, one hand still holding Severus', and with a wince she pulls away. "Don't you _dare_ go anywhere."

He doesn't. Instead, when she returns, he's sitting up in bed, covers tucked around his waist. He lifts them, inviting her to settle next to him, and as soon as she takes her place on the mattress, he resumes kissing her. 

"How," he murmurs, between kisses, "are you even more gorgeous than when I left?"

"Sev!" She swats him playfully, and sighs loudly. "I'm not gorgeous. I'm huge. And I'm wearing this horrible nightie that Mummy got from the market because nothing else fits, and-"

"-and you look radiant," he finishes - and before she can protest, he gently bites her bottom lip, tugging it towards him, and causing her to groan. 

* * *

"You're tired."

She doesn't want to ask him how he knows. She wonders if it shows on her face, or if he's skimmed her mind, but before she can refute his words, his hand gently cradles her face - as if she's made of porcelain. He smiles at her expression, a quirk of his lips, and his dark eyes crease, and she feels the chuckle in his chest before it bursts from his lips. 

"So angry, Lil," he says, his voice lilting. "I can feel it. You're so angry, love."

"You've been missing for weeks," she argues hotly, "and you're surprised I'm angry!"

"Shhhhhhhhhh." He pulls her more closely to him, holding her in a firm embrace. She wants to be annoyed with him, but his grip is comforting and soothing, and the tighter that Severus holds her, the more she feels Bean relaxing within her. "Don't be angry. I can explain," he says finally, "but we both need to sleep. Yes?"

"...yes."

"Then rest with me, love," he says, relaxing his hold on her, and threading his legs between hers.

"Don't get too comfortable," she warns. "If we sleep like this, I'll only have to get you up when Bean kicks my bladder again."

"Then wake me up." He runs a line of kisses down the back of her neck. "Wake me up over and over. As long as I'm here with you, it doesn't matter."

"Promise me you won't leave before I wake."

"I promise."

"I mean it, Sev," she says, twisting until green eyes meet black. "I can't cope with you disappearing again, not knowing where you are, not knowing if you're-" she trails off, her breath hitching.

"Lil, come on-"

"-if you're dead! Oh!" She whimpers, having finally said the words that have plagued her for so long out loud, and he grips her hands, squeezing them tightly. 

"I'm right here. I'm not dead."

"...I thought you might be," she whispers.

He can feel her chest tensing as she admits her fears. "Well, I'm not," he says, lightly. "How could I be? I've got a little Bean to meet, remember?"

Lily laughs softly. "The way Bean's spinning around at the moment, I can hardly forget."

"Hey," he says, moving their hands over her bump, palms against skin, "what are you doing in there, Bean? Be good for Mummy now," he murmurs, his voice low and soothing in her ear, "and let us all have a big sleep together."


	83. If you still love me

"Sorry," Lily says, gently pushing away from him for the third time. 

Severus groans, his voice thick with sleep, but he unwraps his arms, releasing her from his hold. 

When she returns, he's sitting upright again, leaning against the headboard. She shoots him an awkward glance, upset that she's woken him. "I did warn you."

"I know."

"I can't help it." She runs her hand over her bump. "We just can't seem to get comfortable, can we, Bean?"

"Do you want me to move, or-"

"No," she says, quickly, "it's not you. I'm glad you're here." 

"Then come back to me, love," he says, holding his hand out, "I missed you."

She tuts and shakes her head, a smile playing on her face. "You're ridiculous. I was gone two minutes."

"Two minutes too long," he says, pulling her towards him.

She steadies herself as she climbs back into their bed by placing her hand on his bare chest, her fingers threading through his thickening chest hair. She's momentarily distracted, and his eyelids flutter at her gentle ministrations.

"...you're going to say it's grown."

"It has," she says, ignoring the grumble in his tone. "You're changing."

He places his hand beneath her chin and tilts her face towards his, kissing her chastely. "Yeah? Well, you're a fine one to talk," he murmurs against her lips.

"It's not the same. This is temporary."

He quirks an odd smile.

"Stop," she says, "whatever you're thinking, you can stop."

"I didn't say anything!"

"You didn't have to, I know what you want." 

"And you don't?"

"It's not that, Sev." She looks apprehensive. "...I'd like us to get through having the first one before we plan any others." 

He grabs her fingertips and kisses them. "I'd just like it if we had chance to do this again. Properly."

"Bean's not a trial run," she warns. "You can't just keep having babies until everything is perfect. It's never going to be perfect."

Severus pulls her into his embrace. "It's not about being perfect. It's about us going through it together."

"We're together now, Sev," she says, resting her head against his shoulder, enjoying his hold, and smiling as she watches his hand moving over Bean. "And we'll be together once Bean's here. That's all that matters."

* * *

She wakes first, courtesy of Bean kicking against her side - and when Bean doesn't relent, she reaches for Severus' hand in his sleep, holding it against her so he can feel their child. She watches his face, sleeping and calm and distant, and then as the movement registers in his unconscious mind, she sees a slow contented smile slide across her partner's face - until finally, he wakes, with a huff of amusement and a broad grin.

"Bean's awake then?"

"Yeah," she says.

"Mummy too?"

"Hard not to be with Bean behaving like that," she laughs. "Are you?"

"Maybe," he says, closing his eyes. "Sort of."

"What do you mean, sort of? You just closed your eyes again!"

"I'm checking my eyelids for leaks."

"I'll amuse myself then," she says, a dangerous lilt in her tone. She sits up and leans over him, pressing her lips to his. He doesn't open his eyes, and he only barely parts his lips, but he does respond tentatively to her soft kisses. She continues this for several long minutes, then she presses more firmly until he relents, her tongue finally moving against his own.

It takes him a moment, but he eventually props himself up on one elbow, his free hand cupping her face as he responds to her insistent kiss, his nose pressing hard into her cheek as she stakes her claim to his mouth.

She runs her hand into his chest hair again, her fingers gripping and then relaxing, her fingertips brushing over his nipples. The movement is accidental, but he groans deep into her open mouth, so then she makes the action deliberate, her fingers circling and her nails scratching across his sensitive skin.

"Feels good?" she whispers, but he doesn't answer. With no other response, she eventually tires of the game, and steadily slides her hand down his chest, the trail of his hair thinning as it reaches his stomach, and then thickening again as it runs down to his groin. As her hand moves lower, he tenses and she pauses - but he doesn't speak, so she shakes the movement away, as if she imagined it. Her fingertips resume their slow path, and then he wildly jerks his hips away, his hand grabbing her wrist before she can reach her intended destination.

"No," he says, breaking their kiss.

It hurts, his grip, and she stares at him, confused. She glances down at his pincer-like hold, then back up to his blank face, his dark eyes now boring into hers, but she can't fathom what's wrong. "...I was only going-"

"-I don't need you to do that." 

"It isn't about _need_ -"

"Just being here with you is enough," he interrupts, quickly.

She sits back, and at her retreat, he releases his tight hold on her arm. She pointedly rubs her wrist, and he looks mildly abashed at having caused her pain, but he doesn't attempt to explain his reaction further. She looks at him, and he looks away, his head turned and his gaze on the window.

She waits for a moment, and then she reaches for his hand. "So…"

"So what?" His voice is like ice, and that's the Severus she recognises of old - the cold and prickly boy who is quick to throw up his defences in reaction to a perceived slight. She doesn't understand how he's slid seamlessly from her partner, playing the part of returned lover and kissing her passionately, to the distant stranger looking at her impassively.

"Fine," she says, in a tone which suggests the exact opposite, and she settles down in the bed, careful to keep her distance from him beneath the covers.

"What's fine?"

"Severus, give it a rest, will you?" she snaps, her green eyes flashing with fury as she pulls the bedding over her. "It's six in the morning. I don't want an argument, just shut up and go back to sleep."

He doesn't. He shuffles gently towards her, closing the gap between them - and although her body is tense, he coaxes her back into his arms.

"You're a fucking idiot," she hisses, as he presses a kiss to her neck, but she lets him hold her and doesn't pull away.

"I know," he says, softly, his hands grazing across her skin.

She wriggles gently, disrupting his movements. "And you can stop that." 

"Stop what?"

"Touching," she says, a cool tinge flooding her voice, "if you're so repulsed by me-"

He gives a strangled laugh. "Repulsed? Lil, I told you, you're gorgeous-"

"You say the words, but you don't mean them."

"I do!"

"-then why did you keep your eyes closed? Was kissing me that awful?"

"Lil, don't be daft! I told you I was tired."

"Tired," she repeats, her tone incredulous.

"I am!"

"You soon woke up when I tried to touch you."

She can feel his chest rising and falling, and in the silence, she can even hear his mouth opening and closing, words failing to form on the tip of his tongue. She waits, anxiously and angrily, as the seconds grow longer and yet he still doesn't reply.

"Told you," she says, her voice hard, "repulsed."

"No, Lil, please-"

There's something desperate in his intonation which makes her turn, despite her fury, and when she sees his expression - embarrassment, shame, guilt and distress, all clearly plastered across his face - she softens, and cups his cheek in her palm. "Sev?"

Again, there's a pause - but then he takes her hands, and he squeezes her fingers. She normally loves it when he does it, but this time, she wonders if the reassurance is intended for himself, rather than for her. He's breathing heavily, unable to speak, and she squeezes his fingers tightly in response. 

"I'm here, Sev. Talk to me."

"I can't."

"You can," she urges. 

He reaches over her and grabs her wand from the bedside table. He presses it into her hand, and points the end towards his head. 

"Sev, what-"

"-I need you to understand, love. See for yourself."

She turns her wand over in her hand, and then she silently casts. She gasps out loud when she slips into his mind with ease, and she recoils instantly, as if she's been scalded, and she looks at him in horror. "You're not Occluding," she says, her voice filled with panic. "Sev, what happened? You've been Occluding since-"

" _Look_ ," he repeats, leaning forward and pressing his forehead against hers. "Please look, Lil. You need to see. You need to see everything."

* * *

He sits on the bed, legs crossed, his mind open, for what feels like hours. He gets pins and needles in his feet, and a cramp in the back of his calf, but he doesn't move - doesn't protest. He watches, silently, as Lily moves through his recent memories.

She's graceful in her movements, and he doesn't put up any opposition - he tries to order the memories in his mind, trying to pull her through in a logical sequence, showing her Dumbledore and Moody and Pomfrey and Slughorn and Malf, and then she's at the moment he's been dreading, when he knows Narcissa is about to enter Malf's study.

"Stop," he gasps, leaning back - and she immediately pulls away, concern on her face. 

"We've done too much in one go," she says. "You should've told me to stop sooner."

"No," he says, reaching over and taking a swig of water from her glass by the side of the bed. "I'm just…"

She reaches for him, grabbing his hand and holding it tightly. "You should rest. We can do this another day."

"No," he says, taking another gulp. "You need to see this."

"We need to talk about-"

"We can talk after," he says, and he forces her hand up until the wand is pointing back at him. "You'll have plenty to say, I'm sure."

And then she casts, and he breathes in sharply, a pain growing in his chest as he watches the events play out in his mind.

* * *

They don't talk about it. Instead, she immediately presses on to the next scene - to the pubs, to his distress in the street, to his spells and his entrance to her bedroom. She pulls out of his mind, and grabs his hand, peering at it and marvelling at how well it's healed - and then, when he thinks she's about to eviscerate him, she holds her wand back to his temple. 

"Show me again."

He does as she requests - over and over and over again - and as he watches Narcissa's distress for the eighth time, he wonders if this is Lily's method of punishment. He wonders if she can feel the strength of emotions pulsing through him, whether she's picked up on his excitement and his fear and his horror. He wonders who she's watching - Cissy or Malf or himself, and then to his relief, he hears the crunch of gravel as he marches away from the Manor, and he feels Lily withdrawing from his mind.

"Thank you."

He exhales loudly, resting his head in his hands, his mind swirling.

"...we need to talk about this."

"I know," he says, his voice barely a whisper.

"And I don't feel half as guilty now telling you about Potter and Lupin-"

His head snaps up. "What about Potter?"

"And Lupin," she corrects. "...I went to see them. When I was looking for you."

"Great place to start looking. Thought I'd crashed at Potter's did you?" he sneers.

"Don't take what happened at Lucius' out on me," she snaps, and then she holds her hand out, as if to stop him from speaking. "Sev, we can't have this conversation right now. You need to put your Occlumency barriers back up first."

"But I needed you to see-"

"-I know. And now I've seen. So you need to protect your mind again because at the moment, you're an open book and as soon as one of them sees you, whether it's Dumbledore or You-Know-Who, they'll tear you apart."

"They won't."

"Sev, they will!"

"No, they won't. ...because I'm not going back."

His words hit her with such force, she looks as if she's been slapped. "What did you just say?"

"...I said, I'm not going back," he repeats, more forcefully. "If you still want me, that is. After what you've seen."

"But Sev-"

"Tell me you still love me, and tell me you still want me, and I'll stay right here with you. Forever."


	84. Bloody Rillwych

Lily grabs him, and kisses him - soulfully, deeply - as if she's searching for an answer that only his lips can provide, and then she withdraws, the tips of their noses barely touching, and her breath warm on his face.

"Please, Lil, say it," he urges, "and I'll stay."

"...I can't."

The look of anguish and betrayal on his face is immediate, and he jerks from her grip.

"No, Sev, listen," she says, reaching for him and pulling him close again.

His dark eyes narrow, and confusion fills his face, but he permits her to hold him. When he speaks, his voice is barely more than a whisper. "I don't understand. I don't know what you want from me." 

"I can't make you stay here, because you'll resent me."

He stays frozen in place, his breathing stilted.  _Is that all?_ "...I won't."

"You think you won't, but you will, Sev. You'll resent me, and you'll resent Bean, and you'll hate whatever life we build for ourselves."

"You think? Well, I hate _this_ life!"

She gives a slight shake of her head. "No, you don't. You love magic, Sev. I know you do!" She leans behind her and picks up the textbook she'd been reading the night before, and flicks through it, each page clearly filled with his intelligent words. "This! This is you. This brilliant magical brain-"

"-and what use is it? Where has that brilliant magical brain ever got me? Where has yours ever got you?" He closes the book, and tosses it on the bed, pulling her back towards him. "Believe me, Lil, I hate this life."

"And you think this," and she waves her hands at her ordinary bedroom, "is any better?"

"I'll be with you." He shrugs. "That's all I need."

"We used to fight, remember? Before all this started. Before the laws and the legislation."

"I know."

She gives him a stern look. "All the time."

"I know."

"About stupid things."

"I know, Lil."

"About whose turn it was to cook, and who did the shopping, and cleaning the bathroom, and drinking milk straight from the bottle, and when you wouldn't take your boots off-"

He interrupts with a smirk, and points at his boots, neatly tidied beneath the window.

She can't help but laugh. "...you're not Severus," she says, with a gentle dig in his ribs, "what have you done with him?"

"I'm not like I was when we first got together," he says, "not now. I've grown up. Had to." He twists some of her hair around his fingers. "You've grown up too."

"...yes."

And then he gives her a cheeky grin. "But we can still argue, on occasion."

"Sev-"

"-because the sex after is incredible."

She laughs. "I haven't forgotten your fondness for _faking up_."

"Then let's start again," he urges, "because the magical world has nothing for us." 

"You always hated Cokeworth."

"We don't have to live in Cokeworth."

Lily rolls her eyes. "You know what I mean."

"What? You're saying I hate Muggles?" He gives a slight shrug. "Hate's a strong word."

"It's the right word."

"No," he argues, "it's not. I can tell you what I hate, and it's not Muggles. I don't care about them. I _hate_ not being with you. I hate pretending to be someone I'm not. I hate hanging around with men who don't like me or don't respect me or see me as someone convenient to use up and throw away. I hate sitting in a brothel and pretending to pay for sex. I hate brewing for people who'll sell me down the river as soon as look at me. I hate having Azkaban hung over me like a dark promise if I don't obey." He cups her face in his hands, his voice low and dangerous. "And what I really hate is being a nobody."

"You'll be a nobody in the Muggle world," she stresses, pressing her forehead against his. "Worse, even. You'll have no job-"

"-I can get a job."

"How? You won't have any work history, you won't have any references!"

"Okay, fine. I'll get a shit job." 

"You won't even get a shit job, Severus - you've got a criminal record!"

"I'll find something." He shrugs. "Labouring or something cash-in-hand."

She gives him a withering look. "Labouring? You?" She picks the textbook back up. " _This_ is you, Sev. Brains, not brawn, remember?"

"Then I'll apply for every job in the newspaper. I'll write letters every week. Every day! Someone will give me a chance."

"They won't."

"I only need to get lucky once, Lil. Just one person needs to believe in me, that's all."

"They won't, Sev! They won't even look at your CV. They all want qualifications, like Tuney's got. CSEs at least, if not O-levels."

He sighs bitterly. "We both studied all these years, and what's it got us? Nothing."

"She went to night class," Lily says, quietly.

"Petunia? What for?"

"To learn how to type so she could work in an office. That's how she met Dursley. Maybe we could do that?"

"I don't want to type, and I definitely don't want to meet a Dursley." 

Lily shakes her head. "They do other things. Maths and English and History. Courses that we would've done at Muggle school."

"We can't work and study and bring up Bean and cook and clean and all the rest of it. We'd never see each other."

"It might not be that difficult," she says, holding his hand. "We're both bright. It'll be like revision."

"It'll be like treading water," he grumbles. "Jumping through hoops for no good reason when we've got brilliant qualifications already."

Lily looks at him then, her eyes bright. "Sev, what did your mum do?"

"Argued with Da and smoked mostly."

"No," she laughs, elbowing him again. "I mean, when she moved into the Muggle world. Did she get her Hogwarts certificates converted into Muggle ones?"

He looks up and grins widely. "You're right." He leans over and kisses her soundly. "Lil, you're a genius - there must be a way!"

* * *

It feels like forever since she's seen him like this. She was meant to be filling in her own sheets of paper, but she's long given up any pretence of doing so - instead, she watches him as he lies on his stomach on her bed, his long legs gracefully bent up in the air, preventing his feet from dangling awkwardly off the edge of the mattress. He crosses and uncrosses his ankles as he thinks, the tip of the blue biro tapping against his lip, and then he adds another thought to one of the pages before him. 

He seems relaxed, in a way that she almost can't remember - not since the early days of his first apprenticeship, before Borage started belittling him - which seems inconceivable given the gravity of the task he's undertaking.

On each of the pages, there's a heading in her looping handwriting:  _Muggle, Magical - Dumbledore, Magical - Dark Lord_ , and each page is bisected into two: _Pros_ and _Cons_.

It seems ludicrous that they've resorted to this, but despite his extended time in solitary confinement, she's had far longer to think through the realities of their situation. He's swung from one task to the next, placating various allies and foes until he doesn't know if he's coming or going - and she knows from his earlier outburst that although his love for her is genuine, he's not thought through any of the practicalities.

 _"We both need to fully understand the implications of us leaving the magical world."_  

To her surprise, he'd agreed without much argument - and he's taken the exercise seriously. She watches his face, his frown of concentration waxing and waning, despite his relaxed demeanour. This was the sort of task he always excelled at when they were at Hogwarts, and presenting their problem to him like this has given him the space and opportunity to approach it logically, as it were a brainteaser in his father's newspaper.

Her pages are relatively empty in comparison to his, which are filled with the entanglements and relationships he's had the freedom to create. Her life in the magical world had long been curtailed, although the Halfblood papers in her name promise to change all of that, but she can't quite believe it'll happen - not like Severus does. 

For all of his cynicism, there's a wide-eyed innocence to him; a belief in a higher power, in a just-world, in a meritocracy of sorts. It's as if he believes that if he waves the official papers that say she's legitimate, and she waves her wand that proves her excellence, the world around them will suddenly forget all of her years at Hogwarts as Lily Evans - Muggleborn. 

She doesn't believe in such fantasies.

But there's a part of her that does believe in his new suggestion - of Slughorn's recommendation to hide. She hasn't dared tell him yet about the job her parents arranged for her - although she has written it in one of her columns - unsure as to whether he'll be grateful for its existence, or perceive it as a dent to his masculine pride. 

_Would he be too proud to stay at home with Bean whilst I worked?_

She doesn't want his offer to stay in the Muggle world to be a rash decision, blurted out as a desperate means of trying to retain her affection. She doesn't want him to regret the path they take - she wants him to do it with her, hand-in-hand, together, wherever it may take them. 

 _As long as we're together_.

* * *

Severus sits with his back against the headboard, his legs splayed on the mattress, and Lily sat between them. He puts her papers down on the bed, and nuzzles the back of her neck.

"You're meant to be reading."

"I've read them," he argues, brushing her hair to one side so he can kiss her more easily, "you barely wrote anything." He picks one of the pages back up. "Five sentences. I'd give this a T, Miss Evans."

"Would you really, Professor Snape?" she laughs, twisting to look at him. 

"Don't even joke about it," he says. "Imagine working for Dumbledore for the rest of your life."

Lily taps one of the pages. "Isn't that what this says?"

"Yeah, and look at my cons column for it," he says. "Definitely not."

"...I thought he was a good Headmaster. I mean, if the war wasn't on, he might be good to work for? Sluggy's stayed all this time, hasn't he?" She pauses. "Funny to think that in a different world, you really could be at Hogwarts as his apprentice."

"In a different world," he says, quietly, "it would've been you. Not me. Old Sluggy wanted you."

"And we're definitely drawing a line on this one, yes?" She holds the page bearing Dumbledore's name before him. "...it feels wrong."

"What does?"

Lily looks troubled. "Morally wrong. ...you know I think he's right."

Severus nods. "About a lot of things. Like Muggleborns."

"And he's the only one who'll be able to defeat You-Know-Who."

"I'm not even sure he can. Him and Moody? It's not enough."

"There's the rest of the Order."

Severus gives a harsh laugh. "What? The dream team of Potter and Pettigrew? Black and the wolf? Mark my words, love, even Avery could destroy them."

"You said yourself that everyone underestimates Avery."

"They do, but that's not the point, Lil." He runs his hand over his eyes. "What I'm saying is, there's a lot worse than Avery. Mulciber. Rosier. Wilkes. To name a few."

"Right-"

"-there's the Lestranges and Bellatrix-"

"-yeah, I get it."

"Yaxley, and Dolohov, and Malf, even!"

"All right, Sev!"

"Well then," he mutters, his tone moderately triumphant. He snakes his arm around her, holding her close, his voice lower. "I'm just saying, they wouldn't last five minutes in a confrontation. This isn't them picking on me in a corridor at school, fighting four-on-one. This is the real world now."

She circles one of the sentences on her page.  _The right side of history_. "You don't think this one outweighs the cons?"

He draws in a deep breath, his arm holding her a little more tightly. "In an ideal world," he whispers, "I'd say yes."

"But this isn't an ideal world," she says, sadly, her pen poised to cross out the section.

"...no," he agrees. "This is the sort of world where having morals means you end up dead, and I've got you and Bean to think of."

* * *

The next topic is harder still. She already feels sickened that they've so easily cast aside Dumbledore and the Order - so readily dismissed doing what feels right for the world in favour of keeping themselves safe - and even reading through the upsides of cultivating Severus' standing with the Dark Lord makes her feel distressed. 

"I could go in harder with Ave," he muses, drawing an asterisk next to the paragraph he's written about his embryonic friendship with the odious boy.

"Not Lucius?" She peers at him. "You're bothered about what happened the other night?"

"It's not that. Malf's tainted in the Dark Lord's eyes. Ave might be scum, but he's useful, obedient scum, whereas Malf's got a mind of his own." He gives her a tight smile. "A dark and twisted mind, but it's definitely his own."

"If you go back to the Dark Lord, Lucius won't let go of you. You might want to be best friends with Ave, but-"

"-I know."

"He'd force you to help him murder Abraxas. He isn't going to let that slide."

"I know, but I would with either of these options," he says, softly, touching the discarded page with Dumbledore's name on. "There's only being in the Muggle world which saves me from that fate."

 _Then choose the Muggle world_ , she wants to scream, desperate to keep her man innocent of the most wicked of all of the sins.

"But this way, you'd still get to see Cissy," he muses, "and Bean would get chance to grow up with little Draco."

"You just said that Lucius is tainted-"

"-he is, but he's still got standing. He might not be trusted, Lil, but he always manages to land on his feet. I don't see that changing any time soon." He picks at the skin next to his thumb until she places her hand over it, stopping him. "Sorry." He draws in another deep breath. "Malf's unpredictable, that's all. If I was stuck, I know he would come through for me."

"...at what cost?"

He doesn't answer. He doesn't need to - they both know the cost if he goes back this week, and they both know that it's a line that only needs to be crossed once, and then it'll be a service requested over and over.

"Lucius likes you," she says, quietly, "but he's jealous."

"Of what? Of us?"

She turns to look at him again, a slight frown on her face. "You think?"

He nods. "Yeah," he says, "not me and not you, but of what we have together."

"He's got that with Narcissa."

Severus shakes his head. "I know that, but he doesn't." He pauses, as if debating how much to reveal. "He doesn't believe that she really loves him."

Lily's eyebrows lift, her expression incredulous. "He thinks she doesn't really love him? With all the nonsense she puts up with from him?"

"He thinks she does that for the pride of the Malfoy name."

Lily huffs. "He is so full of his own self-importance." She squeezes Severus' hand. "I meant that he was jealous of you two. You and Narcissa."

This time, it's his turn to look amazed. "Me and Cissy? We're just friends."

Lily toys with his fingers, deliberately not looking at him. "She likes you. You fancy her."

"I…" He exhales loudly. "She's my best friend's wife. Anyway, I've got you."

"And if you didn't have me?"

"That's a stupid question," Severus says, abruptly. "I've got you, you're stuck with me, and Cissy and Malf can get on with their own drama together."

"...right."

"What?" He straightens, and sniffs. "What?"

"Nothing."

"No, go on. You might as well say it."

Lily gives him a strange look. "He looked into my mind and saw that I didn't want him." She shrugs. "I think when he looks into Cissy's, he sometimes sees a trace of you."

"Cissy loves Malf."

"I didn't say she didn't."

Severus groans. "Then what are you saying? That she's secretly pining for me? Don't be so daft."

"No, I'm saying that sometimes Lucius is a git! So then she looks at us together, and she looks at you, and she wishes that Lucius was a little more like you." She swallows hard. "A bit more loving. More thoughtful."

"I'm not either of those things."

"You are, but Cissy doesn't know that you leave a terrible mess around the house," she says, airily. "She'd soon tire of picking up your dirty socks."

"She's got house elves for that."

"Not if she divorces Lucius."

He laughs, and pulls her hand to his lips, kissing her fingertips. "When we're back living together, I'll pick up my socks," he promises.

"See," she says, turning her head to kiss him. He responds enthusiastically, and she can feel his heart beating in his chest under her palm.

"See what?" he whispers between kisses, his mouth reluctant to move from hers.

"Thoughtful," she whispers back, and she punctuates it by nipping his bottom lip between her teeth until he hisses, and then she swipes her tongue soothingly across his bitten skin.

* * *

"It feels stupid," he complains, picking up the page, "if we've already decided we don't want to be martyrs for Dumbledore's cause, and if we don't want to be an integral part of the Dark Lord's new world order-"

"-but that's the wrong way to look at it," she argues, "because then you're blinding yourself to all of the bad things about the Muggle world-"

"-I'm not blinding myself, but are any of these bad things going to outweigh the bad things from these two choices?" He taps the discarded sheets, both detailing the positives and negatives of the magical world.

"I'm just saying, it's not going to be easy."

"I know, love."

"And once we do it, there's no going back."

"I know."

She looks distressed. "And I know you didn't want to be a Muggle."

"I won't be," he says, a quirky grin on his face. "I'm still a wizard. You're still a witch." He runs his hand over her bump. "And Bean is still a magic bean." 

"Bean'll have to go to Hogwarts."

"We can teach Bean."

"But-"

He places his finger over her lips. "Shh, love, stop fretting. We were both exemplary students. We can teach Bean." He shrugs. "Or maybe everything will be fine in a decade, just like Sluggy said."

"Even if it is fine, if we bail out on Dumbledore, I'm not sure I want Bean going to Hogwarts."

"Then we'll send Bean overseas. Durmstrang or Beauxbatons or Ilvemorny." 

She looks horrified. "Abroad? Without us?"

"Lily, love," he interrupts loudly, but with a wide smile, "you've just jumped into the 1990s. Let's focus on the here and now, yes? We can argue about schools in a few years." 

They sit quietly, reading over each other's pages, and then Lily frowns. "Sev?"

"What?"

"... will we give up magic?"

"Well, we might have to learn to drive. We can't go Apparating in the street. The neighbours might notice."

"I don't mean that. I mean small spells, like Accio."

He shrugs. "As long as you do it indoors. Away from prying eyes."

"And what about Bean?"

"What about Bean?"

She gives him an exasperated look. "What if Bean does something magical?"

"All magical kids do weird things," he says. "I did. I bet you did. In fact, I _saw_ you doing it!"

"Yeah, but-"

"-Muggles aren't looking for it," he says, dismissively. "They'll accept any old explanation, as long as it seems plausible."

"Your mum doesn't use magic though, does she?"

"Not much."

"Because she wanted to be just like a Muggle?"

There's a silence. 

"Or because your dad didn't want her to use it?"

"...I don't know," he says, eventually. He gives her a curious look. "Moody mentioned her." 

"Your mum? When he was debriefing you?"

"Yeah," he says, sitting up straighter. "Said he knew her."

"Was he at Hogwarts at the same time?"

Severus shakes his head. "Don't think so. Moody's way older." He looks thoughtful. "He said it caused a stir when she ran off with Da. Her family disowned her."

"Maybe the aurors were called to a disturbance?"

He nods. "Yeah, maybe." He flashes her a quick grin. "Sounds like my family."

"We could ask her."

"We could," he says, his tone disinterested, "but she probably won't talk about it. She never does."

"You never wondered?"

He barks a laugh. "I wondered all the fucking time, Lil. From the moment I was old enough to feel the magic thrumming through my fingers." He shakes his head. "She never explained why she made the choice she did."

"Would she now? If we asked? If she knew what we were planning?"

He shrugs. "I don't know."

"We could-"

"I don't really care," he interrupts, "her and Da are not the same as me and you, so it's irrelevant. Anyway, love," he says, smoothly changing the subject, "what's this you've written here about a job?"

* * *

She stands in the doorway to the kitchen, leaning heavily on the frame, and watching as he expertly chops through the vegetables for the evening meal. 

Rose flashes her a smile as she pats Severus' shoulder. "You've saved me a good fifteen minutes there," she says. "You're very fast. Very neat."

"He's a brewer," Lily says. "He can chop and slice anything, any style you like. Thick, thin, ribbons, cubes, julienne - you name it."

"You'd make a good chef, Severus."

He catches her eye then, as if mentally making a note of a potential Muggle career and Lily rolls her eyes.

"I'll leave you to train him then, Mummy," she says, "because he's never cooked me anything that wasn't fried."

* * *

She thought it would be uneasy, the first meal between them all - but her parents are on good form, and for his part, Severus is calm and relaxed. He seems to be in an even better mood since discovering her job - as if it's taken a weight off his shoulders. She thought he'd be upset about the idea of looking after Bean whilst she earns a living, but when she thinks about the alternative - of him watching innocent people dying, and him begging for mercy from a controlling master - she understands why he looks so laid back at the prospect of changing nappies, and bottle feeds at 3am.

 _Anything would feel like a holiday in comparison to the Dark Lord's scrutiny_.

After their meal, Severus helps Rose to wash up, whilst David waters the garden - and then as the evening news blares out, Severus pulls her into an embrace on the sofa.

Her parents don't comment on their overt display of affection, and after watching the news with a frown - and she knows he was watching to see if any familiar faces appeared in amongst the Muggle features - he picks up a pad of A4 and a pen. She watches as he starts to make a plan of their next steps - of the loose ends which need tying up before they can make a successful retreat into the Muggle world, and before long, the television is long forgotten, and she has picked up a pen of her own to join in creating their plan.

* * *

Lily walks back into her bedroom after her shower and smiles broadly at the sight of Severus lying in her bed, his arms behind his head. 

"You're a sight for sore eyes," she says.

"Yeah?" He sounds nonchalant, but he looks pleased at her compliment. "You reckon?"

She flips the covers up, and settles herself next to him. "Put it this way, I'm happier than I was when I went to bed last night."

"Good," he says, nestling against her. 

"Bean too."

He smiles against the back of her head, and she can feel his cheeks moving against her hair. "Double good," he laughs. "We'll have our own place soon," he murmurs, "we can go down to the council, get ourselves on the waiting list."

She turns, a slight look of surprise on her face. "We could go private."

"With what money?"

"The money Potter and Black keep pushing our way. There's more than you think. I've barely spent any of it."

"Their money's going to dry up if we go Muggle," he warns.

She briefly looks anxious. "We can't stop. He'll suffer."

"No." He shakes his head. "It's enough of a risk now. We can't think of doing it if we've gone to ground." He pauses. "How much money have we got?"

"Enough for five months rent," she says.

"What? Here in Cokeworth?"

She shakes her head. "Rillwych."

"Rillwych? You want to live in Rillwych?"

"Beggars and choosers, Sev." 

"Yeah, it's full of beggars, all right." He exhales loudly. "Bloody hell. Rillwych. And I thought Cokeworth was a dump."

"We've not got enough for two months if we stay here."

"Even over the river?" 

"Three over there."

"That'll do."

She gives him a strange look. "I didn't think you'd want to be anywhere near your parents."

"I don't, but I don't want to live in bloody Rillwych either!"

"I'm not asking you to become mayor," she says, jabbing her finger into his ribs.

"Ow!"

"People know we're from here."

Severus sighs. "Lily, Rillwych is all of six miles away! It's signposted from town! It's hardly hidden."

"And if Lucius decided to pay your parents a visit," and he opens his mouth to interrupt, but she quickly places a finger on his lips, "then he won't run into us, will he? He might walk around Cokeworth, but he's not going to venture over to Rillwych. He won't find us." 

"He won't because I'd be too bloody embarrassed to show my face in the street if I lived in Rillwych," he mutters. "Bloody Rillwych."

"You sound just like your dad. You know he only hates Rillwych because they stole the promotion off Cokeworth FC."

"That was years ago! I was a little lad back then."

"And you think he's forgotten?"

He shakes his head. "It's not just that. You know what they say about people from Rillwych."

"Is that…" She pauses, a smile creeping across her face. "Is it? Is that you, Tobias?"

It's a risk when she says it, but to her surprise, his face lights up and he laughs at her teasing. "Comparing me to that waste of space? You're dead, love." 

"Am I?"

"Yeah," he says, biting her earlobe, "I prescribe death by a thousand love bites."

"Mmm," she groans, holding him close to her as he lovingly attacks her neck, "at least it'll keep you quiet about Rillwych for a bit, yeah?"

* * *

"I know what it was that excited you."

There's such a long pause in the darkness, if she couldn't hear him breathing so unsteadily, she'd have assumed he was asleep.

"...at the Manor," she presses.

He swallows uncomfortably. "What, love?"

She knocks gently on the wall. "Up."

He exhales, and she can feel the warm rush of his breath on her chest, and she smiles, knowing from his reaction that she's right.

"Yes?" she prompts.

There's a long pause, and then she hears a soft, barely audible hiss. "Yessss."

She laughs, and leans down, capturing his lips in a kiss. "I knew it."

"You watched it enough times."

"You liked that he gave her a one word instruction, and she did it."

"Not quickly enough," he murmurs, biting gently on her tongue. "I wanted her to do it immediately."

"But his look-"

"-she did it then," he says, breathing a little more raggardly as Lily cups him under the sheets, "when he raised his eyebrow."

"And you liked it."

"I like being obeyed." He pauses, throwing his head back. "I didn't like it after."

"When he was threatening her."

"No."

"You just like it when people do what you say."

"...not really."

Her eyes narrow, remembering his words of old. "No, that's wrong, isn't it?" She grips him more tightly, and he gasps. "Remind me, Sev."

"...I like it when people _want_ to do what I say. When they _choose_ to do it. There's a difference."

She rewards his honesty by sliding her hand up and down him, her grip unrelenting, and causing him to groan.

"If it was just me and you," she murmurs, her voice hot against his ear, "what would you have done?"

"If I'd done that-"

"-knocked on the desk and said-"

"- _Up_ ," he hisses, turning to capture her mouth with his own, "and you'd done it-"

"-I would've, if you'd said it-"

"-I'd have come there and then," he laughs, thrusting his hips against her hand.

"But you didn't. Not at Hogwarts. Not when we did it there."

He lifts himself up onto his elbows, trying to increase the friction against her closed grip, a broad smirk on his face. "You don't know that, love."

"...you didn't."

And then he laughs. "No, I didn't." He smiles - that familiar quirky movement of his lips that just bares the edge of his teeth, the mirth reaching his dark eyes - and then he kisses her. "I didn't then, but I have done since."

"Doing what?"

"Thinking about it."

She smiles. "Us at Hogwarts?"

"Yeah."

"Do you think about it a lot?"

"All the fucking time," he murmurs, moving his hips faster, "and it's my only regret over Bean-"

"-that we didn't get chance-"

"-to finish what we started," he gasps, and then he tightens - and she immediately draws him into a languid kiss, full of unspoken promises from both sides.

* * *

She watches him dress, buttoning his shirt from bottom to top, and then pulling his trousers up, reaching for his belt and slotting it through the loops on his trousers, breathing in and fastening it at far too tight at notch for it to be comfortable. He kneels awkwardly, and yanks on his laces, left and then right, tying his boots tightly, and then he rolls down his sleeves, fastening the cuff on his right arm. Before he can fix the left, she reaches for him, and slides the sleeve back up, staring at his now unblemished skin. 

"There's nothing there, love."

"...it just... _went_?" She can hear the disbelief in her own voice, even though she saw the scene play out in his mind.

"It didn't just _go_ ," he stresses. "It hurt like fuck." He pulls from her, and shakes his sleeve down. "Bled like fuck too. Burnt. You could smell it - my flesh, like it was on fire."

"There's not even a scar. It's as if it never happened."

"He's gone," he says, pulling his jacket over his shoulders and then kissing her deeply. "Gone."

"But if he hasn't-"

"-he has-"

"-but if-"

"-shhhhh," he interrupts, his thumb tracing over her lips. "He's gone." He kisses her again, and then reaches for his wand and stashes it in his sleeve. "Come on, love, it's market day - if we want to go and pester Mam, we need to catch her before she heads into town."


	85. Two sisters

It's a glorious summer's evening, so when Lucius makes the suggestion that his unexpected guests should avail themselves of a tour of the magnificent grounds of Malfoy Manor, there's little room for any of the Lestranges to dissent.

However, Rabastan raises an eyebrow when Lucius halts at the grand entrance, his intention to remain behind abundantly clear. "Not joining us then, Malf?"

Narcissa turns sharply at this development, but neither of the Malfoys speak - and then Lucius gives a thin smile, barely more than a sneer, and holds his hand up in mock apology. 

"I am afraid that I have business to which I must attend," he says, softly. "It has been a pleasure, as always, Rabastan - and thank you for being so thoughtful as to bring along your brother," and then Lucius nods towards Rodolphus, "and his charming wife-"

"His _wife_? Narcissa is my sister! And I shall visit her whenever-" Bellatrix immediately screeches, and Lucius winces, as if he's been slapped - his face twisted in disgust.

"-you are welcome to visit your sister at any time you wish," he interrupts, calmly. He shoots a furtive glance at Narcissa, who looks stoic at the notion of Bellatrix dropping in for more unannounced visits, although he's certain that his wife's stomach will have dropped at the thought. "We are family, Bellatrix, are we not?"

There's a heavy pause - and then, finally, Bellatrix sniffs and takes a step towards the rows of lavender, her hand outstretched to meet the purple flowers. Narcissa looks behind her at the two brothers, who shrug and nod, and then the impromptu tour commences with Narcissa at the helm, whilst Lucius retreats indoors.

* * *

"And this?" Bellatrix barks, pointing at a gaudy maroon petal.

"I am afraid I am not certain," Narcissa says, peering from a distance at the flower. 

"In your own garden? Or am I to understand that these are _his_?" The scorn in Bellatrix's voice is palpable.

"...Lucius arranges the grounds," Narcissa admits, her voice low.

"Of course he does," Bellatrix says, struggling to keep the glee from her tone. "Yet he could not find the time to tour with us." She scrutinises her sister. "Why is that, do you think?"

 _Because he cannot bear to lay eyes upon you_ , Narcissa thinks, staring at her feet. She looks up, a sweet smile on her lips. "Your arrival this evening was not by prior arrangement. Neither myself nor Lucius could excuse ourselves fully from our commitments-"

"I know you were feeding his child," Bellatrix says, her hand drifting violently across the flowers, pollen scattering in her wake, "but what was he doing? What is he doing now?" 

"And am I to ask the same?" Narcissa counters, tilting her head. "Of what was of interest to you and your husband and your brother-in-law in the corridor-"

"-we were-"

"-looking for the bathroom," Narcissa finishes. "So you have already said. I did not realise that the Manor was so large that you could so easily lose your way. All three of you, no less. You surprised us, given your upbringing, your breeding, your familiarity with such buildings. Now if you were Muggles-"

Bellatrix's nostrils flared. "How _dare_ you, Cissy!"

Narcissa shoots a cold smile at her sister. "How dare you, Bellatrix," she enunciates clearly. "How dare you enter my house, and how dare you attempt to thwart my husband-"

"-he is-"

"-we have done this already!" Narcissa shouts - and when Rabastan and Rodolphus look over, she immediately looks at the hedge, her heart banging until she sees Bellatrix waving the two men away. 

"...indeed we have, Cissy," Bellatrix agrees. "Rodolphus and Rabastan," she says, placatingly, "wished to discuss events with Abraxas-"

"-and you have been told that Abraxas is unwell-"

"-he is of the old ways," Bellatrix hisses, "one of us!"

"So is Lucius! So am I!"

Bellatrix gives her a knowing look. "Are you, Cissy? Are you really? You and Lucius both? And your son? Is he with us too?"

Narcissa hesitates at the mention of Draco, but then nods. "We are all loyal. As one."

* * *

"Hard to believe when you see her now," Rodolphus says, strolling next to his brother and watching as the two sisters move alongside each other, the atmosphere between them clearly icy, "babe in arms, and him playing the devoted father."

Rabastan grins. "Lucky I had an audience to bear witness."

"She still does it," Rodolphus says, twirling his wand in his hand. "Apparently."

At this, Rabastan looks interested. "Does she?" His eyebrow quirks. "With his knowledge or without?"

"With. They're a package deal, so I'm told." He lowers his voice. "He likes to watch."

"Who told you that? Bella?"

Rodolphus shakes his head. 

"Go on, Dolph," Rabastan says, eagerly. "You can't just say things like that."

"Why? After a repeat, are you?"

"What can I say?" Rabastan smirks. "She sucks a mean dick." 

"Yaxley," Rodolphus says, watching his brother's face carefully for a reaction. 

"That ugly old fucker? He's had her?"

Rodolphus gives a nasty grin. "According to Yax, him, Mulc and Malf, if you get my drift."

Rabastan stares at the lithe form of Narcissa, bending over to sniff one of the flowers ahead, pointedly ignoring her sister. "The three of them at the same time?" He lets out a low whistle. "Dirty fucking bitch." He glances at his brother. "Would you?"

"Bella would castrate me."

"You must be the only one of us who hasn't."

Rodolphus nods. "You'd expect that the way the Dark Lord has been recruiting, her percentage would be falling, but that's not the way I hear it."

Rabastan laughs again, more crudely. "Yaxley though. That's bottom of the barrel stuff."

"More bottom of the barrel than Snape?"

"She hasn't done him."

Rodolphus peers at his brother, his expression scornful. "The amount of time he spends with Malfoy? He must've."

"I'm serious."

"Why not? Because he's a Half?" Rodolphus gives a disdainful sniff. "I don't believe it for a second. Granted, I don't understand why Malfoy would choose to keep such company-"

"-oh, he's not so bad, Snape-"

"-he's a Half, Bast!" Rodolphus shakes his head. "But still, if she's lowering her knickers for the likes of Yaxley and Mulciber-"

"-she hasn't done Snape," Rabastan insists. He glances around him and then leans towards his brother, a grin on his face. "Put it this way, it's more likely that Malfoy's the one doing the fucking where Snape's concerned." 

Rodolphus' eyebrows raise. "Oh really?"

"Really."

"I thought that was just silly schoolboy rumour."

"He's one of us, Snape," Rabastan says, quietly.

"I know."

"Marked."

"I know."

"Well then."

Rodolphus pauses midstep, and turns to face his brother. "Well then what? I'm not following."

"Rosier told me that he caught Malfoy with Snape's dick in his hand." 

"Yeah? Invited him to join in, did he? Another debauched threesome?"

"Rosier's not like that."

"But you're saying Snape is?" Rodolphus shakes his head. "Didn't he go missing for a while with some girl-"

"-a _Muggle_ ," Rabastan laughs. 

"Is _that_ what she was?"

Rabastan nods. "As good as. And it doesn't make sense, does it? I mean, fair play, he's an ugly fucker - no chance he's pulling a Bella or a Cissy-"

"Merlin, no."

"-but one of us, with a _Mudblood_?" Rabastan shakes his head. "Doesn't make sense. Unless it didn't matter. Unless she wasn't really his girl. Unless she was covering for him."

"...because he was really Malfoy's bitch?"

Rabastan nods, and indicates towards Narcissa. "And that explains why Malfoy's happy for the lovely Cissy to spread her legs for anyone and everyone. Including Yaxley."

"Whilst he just _watches_ ," Rodolphus finishes, looking astonished. "Bloody hell." There's a pause. "The kid…" He doesn't finish the sentence, but his question is clear.

"It's a Malfoy," Rabastan says, firmly.

"Because of the blond hair?"

"Don't forget the grey eyes."

Rodolphus frowns. "Charms can cover a lot these days. How can anyone be sure? It could be any of ours." He pauses. "Well, not mine. Not yours either, by the sounds of it. But anyone else's."

"Malfoy's a calculating fucker. He'd have drowned it if it was a bastard," Rabastan says, his voice impassive and his eyes not leaving Narcissa. "So now she's popped out the next in the long and illustrious Malfoy line, do you reckon she's still up for it?" 

Rodolphus looks disgusted. "Probably all stretched out now." 

Rabastan laughs more loudly - crudely. "Yeah." Then he glances at his brother. "Not long until Bella's in the same position, mind. Then what'll you do?"

"Different when she's your own witch," Rodolphus says, straightening his collar. "When she's the mother of your heir."

"Nothing yet?"

Rodolphus shakes his head as they round the corner. "She bled the other week, so I've spent most of the past few days pounding a Bellatrix shaped hole into the mattress-"

"-all right! I get it, thanks," Rabastan interrupts, screwing his face up, as if he's in pain.

"What? You didn't mind talking that way about her sister. What's the difference? They're both of pure Black heritage. No Muggles here."

Rabastan grins. "Bella might still be, but with what you're saying about Cissy? She's reduced herself to nothing more than Malfoy's whore. Whereas Bella…" He gives a sharp intake of breath, failing to find the words. "Bella is..." 

"You don't need to pretend to be courteous," Rodolphus laughs, "as if you think my wife is a pure, respectable lady."

"I do think that!" 

"I know you're scared shitless of her." Rodolphus claps his brother on his shoulder. "Truth be told," he grins broadly, "so am I. No wonder Malfoy married the obedient one. Bella would've put up too much of a fight for his liking."

"Is that so?" Rabastan arches his eyebrow. "But not for yours?"

"Oh no," Rodolphus smiles, twirling his wand once more, "I find her unpredictability rather exhilarating."

* * *

"Well, Narcissa," Rodolphus says, bowing low and kissing her hand respectfully, "I must thank you for a most delightful evening."

"Myself also," Rabastan adds, taking her other hand and mirroring his brother's movements. "I am terribly sorry that Lucius has found himself otherwise engaged and unable to bid us farewell."

Bellatrix barely represses a snort, and Rodolphus straightens, grabbing her hand and squeezing it tightly. 

"He will be most distressed to have missed your departure," Narcissa says, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. 

"I may drop in again," Rabastan says, quietly, his lips quirking into a small smile. 

"You are always welcome." Her response is instantaneous; almost mechanical. 

"I may bring one of the others," he says, probingly. 

"Of course. We are all one."

"Indeed," Rabastan grins, "I was thinking perhaps Yaxley and Mulciber may wish to visit and wish your delightful family well."

Narcissa stiffens - barely, almost imperceptibly, but all three are watching, and there's an unspoken moment of glee from her visitors.

Bellatrix leans in to her sister, her voice low. "Have you heard from Snape?"

Narcissa refuses to look Bellatrix in the eye. "No."

"He's gone missing."

"So Lucius has said."

"And he didn't tell Lucius that he was leaving?"

"Not that I am aware."

The three Lestranges share a glance, and Narcissa looks from one to the other. 

"Is he in trouble?" Narcissa asks.

Again, the three Lestranges share a look.

"Bella!"

Bellatrix places a cool hand on Narcissa's forearm. "There was interest in commissioning him."

"But if he's nowhere to be found-"

"-maybe he's busy trying to shag another Muggle," Rodolphus says, brightly - and Rabastan barely holds back a snigger.

Narcissa holds her wand tightly, trying desperately not to show her fury. "Perhaps." She straightens. "And, if I may enquire, what was the nature of the commission?"

Rabastan shakes his head. "We'll tell Snape that ourselves."

"You can tell him we're looking for him," Rodolphus says, "if you see him before we do."

"I am sure he will be delighted to hear that there are interests in his talents."

Bellatrix scoffs. "After the last time, he's lucky that the Dark Lord is so benevolent." 

"Desperate," mutters Rabastan.

"He wants Severus to brew?"

Rodolphus looks surprised. "You haven't heard about Goldstein?"

"Borage's apprentice?" Narcissa frowns. "He replaced Snape when…" She waves her hand awkwardly.

"When Snape was convicted," Bellatrix crows. 

"He wasn't-"

"-Goldstein's dead," Rabastan interrupts, coolly. 

"So the Dark Lord requires a new brewer," Narcissa finishes, her eyes wide. She immediately exchanges a look with Bellatrix. "...and how did Goldstein die?"

Bellatrix smiles. "And why on earth would you ask that of me, Cissy?"

The night is almost silent, and the four adults stand and stare at each other, wands clenched, but not yet drawn. 

"It is true," Rodolphus suddenly says, loudly breaking the silence, "that my wife has a distaste for those who shun the artistry of spellcraft, and choose to focus upon the menial task of brewing, but I must request that you do not make such accusations outside of the family, Cissy."

"Narcissa," she corrects, firmly.

Rodolphus smiles. "Narcissa." He gives a half bow. "Do tell Snape that we were making enquiries of him." He holds his arm out. "Bella?"

"Goodbye, Cissy," she says, planting a kiss on her sister's cheek, and then she takes her husband's arm, and with an explosive crack, the three interlopers Disapparate from the grounds of Malfoy Manor.

* * *

"They were looking for your father!"

"I know."

"And now they want Severus!"

Lucius looks up sharply from his paperwork. "Severus?"

Narcissa nods. "Goldstein's dead."

At this, Lucius stands up from his chair behind his desk. "Dead? Goldstein?"

"You do not have to repeat everything I say." She shoots him a dark look. "You sound like an ill-educated parrot."

Lucius ignores her, and strides towards the fireplace, his hand gripping the mantelpiece. "If Goldstein is dead, they'll want Severus to brew."

"I said as much."

He looks at her then, his pale eyes connecting with hers. "And did they deny it?"

"No."

Lucius turns back to the fireplace, and places his other hand on it, bracing his weight against the mantelpiece, the tension rippling through his body. "She killed him." There's a pause. "Goldstein," he clarifies.

"...I think so."

"You think so?" He glances over his shoulder, his teeth gritted. "You _think_ so?"

Her voice is softer. "I know so."

"Yes," he drawls, his voice shuddering as he draws a breath, "yes, your delightful sister has taken another brewer. How many is that? Five? Six?" He grips the mantel. "At least, this time, it wasn't one of mine."

"Don't."

"What?" he says, talking to the empty fireplace, his voice echoing oddly from the chimney. "Am I not permitted to be irritated that she saw fit to rid Arisean of her hands?"

"...Nott was undercutting-"

"-she was my problem!" he thunders. "Not your sister's, and Bellatrix has never, _never_ been interested in aiding me." He stands, and releases the mantelpiece, and straightens his sleeves. "She dismembered Arisean because it suited her. It was an added bonus that her actions disrupted my business, although I had to carry that! I had to pretend to one and all that I was not displeased - that this sort of behaviour was acceptable! That these were the actions of a family aligned to one another, of loyalty and honour amongst us. Worse, for this, I _owed_ her." His movements are slow, deliberate, and then he turns to face her. "And pray, Cissy, if she continues in her quest-"

"Lucius, no-"

"-and if Severus were to meet his end by Bella's wand, which of us would then have blood on their hands? Me, for encouraging him to specialise in such a line of work, knowing your sister's proclivities?" 

"No, please-"

And then he stares at her with such dislike, such hatred, her breath is almost yanked from her lungs. "Or you, for creating the fury which lies within her?"

She inhales sharply, and he's beside her in an instant, his arms wrapped around her, his nose in her hair, and his mouth at her ear. 

"I know," he murmurs, and she can feel his breath on her skin.

"Do you?"

"Yes," he hisses, and then he traces the shell of her ear with his tongue, "I know what you did."

Her breath catches. "And now you know, you'll do what? Leave me? Leave your son?"

He moves back from her then, his hands still at her hips, but he holds her at arm's length, his eyes roving her face. He watches as she tenses, her body rigid, her jaw set, her eyes flashing - and he gives the broadest of smiles, his chest inflated, and his expression smug. He raises his right hand, and tips her chin.

"I do not intend to do anything."

"...why?"

"Because nothing has changed." He gives her a disarming smile. "Cissy, I've known for _years_."

She falters, and he catches her, pulling her into a swooping embrace, his arms encasing her.

"Shhhhhh," he says, adjusting her and lifting her onto his desk, insinuating himself between her legs, and running his fingers through her hair. "Why so distressed, Cissy?"

When she speaks, her voice is weak. "Because if you know…" She looks at him helplessly. "If you know…" 

"Let me be clear," he says, his voice low. "I know _what_ you did." He leans in towards her. "But I have always been uncertain as to why." He gives her a small grin. "Apart from that which unites us."

"...which is?"

"The pull of the darkness," he says, huskily, and before she can say anything further, he finds her mouth with his, and kisses her hungrily, like a man who has been starved of affection. 

She pulls him towards her, meeting him equally in the kiss, her hands roaming down his back as he lowers her onto the desk, his clothed pelvis grinding against hers. "How?" 

"Your mother told my father that Bellatrix was suddenly unavailable, and that I was to focus my attentions elsewhere."

"To me?"

He gives her a lascivious grin. "That was not part of the instruction. That was my own decision."

"Why?"

"You took from me, so I took from you," he replies, simply, and then he tears at her robes, his mouth biting at her skin.

"I'm not…" She gasps as he blemishes her neck and swollen breasts, leaving a trail of scorching kisses down her chest. "Lucius, I'm not…"

"Not what?" he murmurs, sliding his hand into her robes and fondling her through her knickers. "Not ready?" He presses harder, and then pulls his glistening fingers from her, pausing to look and then sucking her juices from his skin. "I beg to differ, witch. You're wet."

She inhales deeply, and he watches her as if he's hypnotised by the movement of her breasts - and then, when she says nothing further, he slides his hand back beneath her robes, pulling her underwear tight against her. 

"I want you to come like this," he says, his face inscrutable. She doesn't speak, doesn't move, her eyes darting over him - and then, he yanks the material tighter, and she whimpers. The pressure is so great against her sex, she can't help but groan as she rocks against the material. 

He looms over her, his mouth back at her ear. "Good girl," he murmurs, "how you please me when you take your pleasure in such wanton ways." He pulls on the material again. "If you're a very good girl," he says, "then I'll replace your soaked knickers with my cock."

She groans again in response, her hips moving more rapidly, and her fingers gripping his shoulders. "Yes," she whispers, hoarsely.

"Then tell me." 

She doesn't speak, and he tightens his hold further on the material - the elastic is taut, and she's convinced it's going to break, or she's going to break, but his gaze is like steel and his grip unrelenting.

"Tell me, Cissy," he demands. "Tell me what you were going to say. You're not what?"

She thrashes her head from side to side, the pleasure building within her. "I'm not... _dark_."

He laughs loudly - a deep, booming laugh, and then he shifts the material he's holding tightly, pulling it to the side, and he thrusts himself deeply inside her, throwing his head back and groaning in ecstasy as she encases him within her. "Fuck me," he says, pistoning his hips back and forth, pinning her to the desk with his arms to stop his thrusts from propelling her across the surface - and she's not sure if it's an exclamation or a demand. "You twisted your sister into being the depraved murderous bitch that she is, and you say that you're not dark." He thrusts into her harshly, his eyes glinting. "What was it then? A sibling spat? Just a joke with unintended consequences?"

"...no."

The only indication that her answer has surprised him is that his rhythm stutters - but within seconds, he resumes his relentless pace. "No?" he presses, thrusting harder and harder, making her wince as he hits her cervix. He leans down, hissing in her ear. "You're pretending that you knew what would happen? That you'd put yourself willingly in the cross hairs? Were you such an innocent, you didn't anticipate that I would react in such a way?"

When she doesn't answer, he reaches for the material again, and twists it tight, the new angle capturing her clitoris in a way that makes her grasp his shoulder, her nails biting into his skin.

"I'm not unhappy with the deal, witch. I like the idea of consequences," he hisses, harshly, "of crime and punishment, of pleasure and pain. You made your own bed with your actions and now you have to lie in it." He pulls on the material again, his hips somehow moving even faster. "But you owe it to yourself to be honest. To say it. Tell me, Cissy," he hisses. "Tell me now!"

"I did it because I couldn't stand by and watch her claim you," she wails, pleasure coursing through her, and then she grabs him as she reaches her peak, "when her heart already belonged to another, and I wanted you for myself."

"Oh fuck!" he yells, her words pulling him over the edge. He pants heavily through his climax, and then, his chest heaving, her stares deep into her eyes. "You're lying."

"I'm not."

"You wanted...me?" His left eye twitches, an involuntary movement of the muscle.

"Yes," she says. "I chose you, Lucius Malfoy, just as much as you chose me."

And then he kisses her forcefully, his mouth plundering hers greedily, and when she reacts with the same fervour, she feels his body relax, the tension flooding from him.


	86. Fruit of the tree

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some domestic violence in this chapter.

He's been agitated all day - ever since he knocked at the door, and a dishevelled looking Tobias informed him that he was too late; Eileen had already left for town. 

"We'll just come back later," she says to Tobias, pulling Severus down the cobbled street and back towards the river.

"We've got to get moving with all of this stuff, Lil," he snaps, "I haven't got time for this."

"He can't help it if she's gone out."

And then he turns so quickly, his hair swings and whips his cheeks. "She's not gone out," he hisses. "He was hungover."

She glances at him, his pace now making her stumble on the cobbles, and she clings to his arm, causing him to slow. 

"Sorry," he grunts, and then he slides his wand down his shirt sleeve and she feels a weightlessness charm being cast at her feet.

"Ohh," she groans in relief, this time squeezing his forearm in gratitude, not in anguish.

"You can go back to your parents'," he offers, replacing his wand in a swift movement, "have a rest with Bean."

"What did you mean, Sev?"

He doesn't answer, but his posture stiffens, and she can feel the muscle in his forearm tensing and relaxing and tensing and relaxing. 

"Sev?"

"She was hiding in the bedroom," he says, quietly. "I saw her in the window when we came up the street."

"But why-"

"-he'll have hit her."

She doesn't need to ask him how he knows; she knows that he's lived with an undercurrent of domestic violence for most of his life, and that he'll have seen this exact scene, or ones very similar, played out many times before.

"She used to say it was me," he says, unprompted. 

She glances at him, and his face is drawn and pale, his black eyes darker than ever. "You?"

"That he only hit her because of me. Because of what I did, or what I didn't do." He fumbles in his pockets and retrieves a cigarette, flicking it between his lips and lighting it with his wand, and then he sucks in a large breath, holding the smoke in his mouth and then turning his head and exhaling it away from her. 

She doesn't like him smoking, but she knows it's a sign of his distress - one of the visible stains from his upbringing, like the scars on his back and his hip and his rear. She doesn't rebuke him - just walks silently next to him, knowing that if she doesn't speak, he'll find the words if he needs to say them.

They're three streets away before he does. "It's not true."

"What isn't?"

"Because I wasn't there, so he's just a…" He shudders, and then pulls on the stub of the cigarette, looking mildly irritated to have reached the filter. He pauses, and drops it to the ground, squeezing it below the sole of his boot and the pavement, and then kicking it into the grid. 

"It was never you," she says, sliding her hand back into his.

"Oh, it was!" He barks a sharp laugh, and shakes his head. "I was no saint, Lil. You know that."

"But he's still doing it."

"She reckons he never did it before I was born," he muses, leading her onto the main road back to town, and away from the miserable estate where he was born. "I was the catalyst." He shrugs. "Thought he'd stopped, but he obviously can't change his ways now. Been doing it too long."

Lily looks at him, reaching up and straightening his shirt collar. "...do you think she lied to you?"

He seems genuinely surprised at her words. "Mam?" He shakes his head. "No. He didn't know about her magic until I was born. Reckon that's when it started. When he realised she was different."

She opens her mouth to reply, but he throws his arm over her shoulder and tucks her into his side.

"Come on, love, enough about them. Let's go and look at a house for us in beautiful Rillwych."

* * *

He covers his anguish masterfully, and although she's pleased to realise that he must've been silently working on his Occlumency shields, it still distresses her to know that he can pull his grief into a box within himself, and ignore it, not showing it to anyone else.

The day is otherwise pleasant - they head to the lettings agents, and they look at particulars, and they even manage to visit two properties; both long empty. The first one was cheap, even by Rillwych's standards and it showed - the bath held stains that she doubted even magic could remove, and when Severus inspected the hob, a worrying smell of gas filled the air and refused to dissipate, even when the agent flung open the kitchen window.

The second was much more promising, although Severus had seemed concerned when he touched the living room wall and his hand came away wet.

"Damp."

"It'll go."

"It's the height of summer, and it's damp," he says, more insistently. "It'll be worse come winter."

"Nothing a good fire won't sort out," the agent helpfully chips in.

"We've got a little one on the way," Severus scowls, his tone so fierce, the agent coughs, and moves away to inspect the worktop in the kitchen. 

"Sev," she murmurs, pulling his attention to her, and tapping his arm, just where she knows he keeps his wand hidden. "I think we can keep it warm enough to get rid of the damp," she says, a little louder, intending to catch the agent's attention.

At this, the agent turns, and smiles. "Good, then we can-"

"-if," Lily interrupts, "we have enough money to spare for coal."

Severus catches her eye, and then he scowls at the agent again. "Coal doesn't grow on trees. We've barely got enough to keep the wolf from the door now," he says, sharply, "and by winter, we'll have an extra mouth to feed. We can't afford to overload the fire to resolve a problem that isn't ours to begin with. We should wait. See what the other agent can offer. Maybe look at Cokeworth again."

"Yes, you're right," she says, meekly, glancing down. "Sorry, I got carried away. It just seemed so right otherwise. Cokeworth it is, I suppose."

"Well, let's not be too hasty," the agent interrupts, striving to keep a tone of alarm from his voice, and a broad false smile on his face. "The property has been vacant for a while. I'm sure if I discuss it with the landlord, we can come to some arrangement."

"For him to sort out the damp?"

"...ahhh," the agent falters. "More likely a reduction in the rent to help with the coal."

"Not to help," Severus presses, "to _cover_ the cost of the extra. And I want it in writing, in the rent agreement."

"But then you'll take it?"

Severus glances quickly at Lily, and then away again, her expression giving away that their bickering had been a ruse. "We could wait-"

"-your good wife looks fit to burst-"

Severus shoots him a quelling look.

"I mean," the agent quickly says, stumbling over his words, "that you must want to get settled, ready for your exciting new arrival. If you wait to look at Cokeworth properties with another agent, then you might run out of time."

"Please, Sevvy," she wheedles, taking his hand in hers, and he struggles not to laugh out loud at her earnest acting. "If the nice man from the lettings agency can help us…"

"Fine," Severus sighs, as if it's a great hardship. "Do we sign back at the office, or here?" 

* * *

After they sign the papers at the lettings agents, they walk out, hand in hand, and then - without warning - he pulls her into an alley.

"Sevvy? Sevvy!" 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she laughs, kissing him. "You were marvellous."

"You weren't so bad yourself, love," he says. "The perfect damsel in distress."

"And we can wave our wands at the walls-"

"-and pocket the rent reduction."

"Save up for a proper place of our own," she says. 

"Yes," he says.

"With no damp."

"Yes."

"And a garden."

He smiles at this. "For Bean to play in."

"Save going to the park."

"Hey," he says, pulling her close to him, "going to the park was the very best thing I ever did when I was a kid."

"And why would that be?"

"Dunno," he teases, leading her out of the alley and towards the bus stop so they can get back to Cokeworth. "What about you? Wasn't the park the best thing you ever did?"

"Maybe."

"Just maybe?" He pretends to be affronted as he sits on a wall near to the bus stop, helping her to sit next to him.

"Well, I did lots of interesting things at junior school."

"Oh yeah? Like what?"

She pretends to think for a moment. "Well, I painted a great picture of our family holiday in Spain when I was seven."

"Yeah?"

"Don't look so cynical," she laughs. "It was good! So good, in fact, it was hung up for display outside the Headmaster's office. It stayed there for three terms."

"Three terms? Gosh," he says, sarcastically, his eyebrow arching. "Anything else I should be aware of?"

"Well, I played recorder at all of the Christmas services in 66, 67, 68 _and_ 69."

"I remember you saying at the time. The last couple, anyway."

"Yeah," she smiles. "And then when I was nearly nine..." She trails off, a mischievous look on her face.

"...go on."

"I won first prize for a story. Imaginative creative writing. Apparently I was very inventive."

"I don't doubt it, love. What was the story about?"

"It was all about a strange boy I met at the park over the summer holidays, and how we were going to have big adventures in another world."

"Strange boy?"

"He couldn't help it."

He grins broadly at her cheek. "Shall we focus on the big adventures part instead, hey? ...what was this other world like then?"

"Well, there were games to play that nobody had ever heard of, and fancy shops - including a joke shop and a sweetshop with all sorts of treats that you can't get in ordinary shops, and you went to school in a big castle-"

"-sounds completely unrealistic-"

"-and there was so much food that you could eat and eat and eat and the plates would just keep filling-"

"-glutton-"

"-but it wasn't all good, because there were fearsome creatures which stalked around a terrifying prison-"

"-you put that in your story?" he interrupts. "Merlin, Lil, you always were obsessed with bloody Azkaban. I wish I'd never told you. Every sodding day you'd ask me about Dementors and trials at the Ministry and-"

"-you," she corrects.

"What?"

"I wasn't obsessed with Azkaban," she says, softly. "I was always obsessed with you."

He looks as if she's slapped him, frozen and stunned - and then he leans over, framing her face with his hands. He kisses her gently, his nose brushing against hers. "Bloody hell, love."

"I still am."

"And me you," he whispers.

"I love you."

"I love you too." And then, as if sensing the disapproving looks from passersby, he kisses her once more, and pulls away. "Just you wait until I get you home, love. Just you wait."

* * *

Her parents take the news of them moving out in their stride, although they look a little surprised, and she can see the concern in her father's face. Despite any misgivings he might have, he offers his hand to Severus, and shakes it warmly. 

"Glad to see you both settling down somewhere secure again," he says - and before anything further can be said, Rose calls for them to sit at the table.

"The Last Supper," David jokes, as he picks up his knife and fork. 

"David!"

"I just meant-"

"We know what you meant, Daddy," Lily says, lightly, passing the salt to Severus, who has wisely kept silent. "Mummy, we were talking today about how we met. ...how did you and Daddy meet?"

"In a nightclub," Rose says, smiling at David. "He was acting like such a buffoon with his friends, and then I saw him dancing."

Severus grins, as he spears a carrot with his fork. "Got the moves, David?"

"I had them at one time, but I think they've since left," he smiles back.

"And that was it?" Lily pushes. "Love at first sight? Or second, even."

"Well," her mother flushes slightly, "not quite. I dated his friend-"

"Alan."

"Alan?" Lily looks shocked. "Not Uncle Alan?"

"He's not really your uncle," David says, quickly. 

"I know but-"

"Two years," Rose says.

"You dated Uncle Alan for two years?"

"Lil," Severus says, softly, glancing between her parents. "It's not like it matters now."

"And then he cheated on your mother with Auntie Pamela," David says, trying hard not to look smug and not entirely succeeding. "So I offered to take her out for a drink, be a shoulder to cry on."

"You have got the moves," Severus murmured, and this time it was Lily's turn to kick him under the table. 

Rose smiles at David, as if she hasn't heard Severus, and puts her hand on his. "And now look at us." She looks then at Lily, and then Severus. "And your parents, Severus? Do you know how they met?"

"Not a bloody-" he stops suddenly at David's unimpressed look, "er, sorry, not a clue. They don't really talk about stuff like that." 

"Well, neither do we," David says, quickly. 

* * *

He laughs when they're alone upstairs. "Neither do we, Lil!" He sits back on her bed and his laughter is infectious. "Bloody hell, no wonder they don't talk about it if she was sleeping with-"

"-Sev, don't, they're my parents."

"Sorry, love," he laughs, "but that's hilarious. How many Christmas gatherings have you had with the whole family, including Uncle Alan and Auntie Pamela?"

"They're not my real-"

"It's _hilarious_ , Lil," he giggles, and she throws a pillow at him when his laughter doesn't abate. "I thought that was going to be some boring family story, all about a nice twee meal in a restaurant, and it turns out that there was a big love triangle going on." 

"You really don't know?" she asks, sitting on the edge of the bed, and her tone clearly changing the subject.

"What?"

"About your parents. How they met?"

"No."

"You've never asked?"

"Can't say I'm interested."

"Sev, they're your parents. Wouldn't you want Bean-"

"Bloody hell, Lil, you didn't know about yours either!" He shakes his head.

"I think you should ask."

"I don't care," he says, exasperatedly. "What's done is done." He reaches for her hand and kisses it. "Look, if you really want our child to know all about us, you can read Bean your prize winning story at bedtime, all about that strange boy you were obsessed with."

"You're a git."

"One hundred percent," he says, kissing her. "And don't you forget it."

* * *

He's restless when they're trying to sleep, and she knows that it's the situation at Spinner's End playing on his mind. She asks him if he was going to go back in the morning and try again - but he grunts noncommittally, and she can't blame him. It was one thing to guess at what was going on behind closed doors, and another thing entirely to be presented with irrefutable proof; to know for certain. 

* * *

He does go back. She walks with him, hand in hand, and they're almost silent on the journey over. Once they're indoors, it's not much better. It's tense, just as she remembers his house being when she was a young teenager. It never really seemed to bother him back then, but now, she can see that his breathing is shallow, and she can tell from the tilt of his arm that his wand is only an inch from his wrist - cautious, prepared. She idly wonders if he's fundamentally changed, or whether he just didn't know any different when he was younger; didn't know that people lived without a constant background refrain of arguing and fighting and smashed plates and broken bones.

Severus was right. Tobias had hit Eileen, although neither of them admit as much. Severus, for his part, doesn't actually ask - and neither does she, both of them pretending not to have noticed - but make-up only covers so much, and does almost nothing for lips which have been split.

The atmosphere is strained - moreso than usual, because Eileen and Tobias aren't talking; aren't even pretending to do so. It's not so surprising, given the circumstances, but it does make for an uncomfortable ten minutes when all four of them crowd into the living room, all of them stood or sat in stony silence.

 _The Snapes have never been big on small talk_.

Then, clearly having had enough, Tobias huffs loudly, and reaches over for the radio, snapping it on. A sports talkshow booms loudly into the room, and Eileen and Severus exchange a look that she doesn't quite understand, and then they both depart for the kitchen.

"I'll be back in a minute, love," he says, as if preempting her question. She doesn't really want to stay here, in this room, with Tobias - but he's trying to edge as close to the radio as possible, leaning on the arm of his chair and staring at the empty fire, as if he's entirely disinterested in her presence.

 _Safest that way_.

* * *

It takes longer than she expects - almost half an hour ticks by, but then it happens - their voices start to carry, seeping through the wall at a level where they can be heard. 

"You made your choice! You told me!"

"Things have changed!"

"What things?"

"What things? What things? Mam, you'd know if you picked up a wizarding newspaper once in a while-"

"-and is that what you're going to do, is it? A nice little house in Rillwych amongst the Muggles, and owls bringing newspapers to your door everyday? You think they're blind, do you, you idiotic boy?"

"I don't think-"

"You don't think, that's right, son!" 

"This is the best-"

"-you're a coward."

"I'm not a fucking coward!" 

Lily glances helplessly at Tobias, who gives a tight shrug and twists the volume up on the radio. Now she can only just hear the argument, in between the analysis of the cricket, but there's enough anguish in Severus' voice for her to know that this isn't the productive discussion that he was hoping for.

"You ran … from the police here … now here … from the enemies you've made … and there won't be anywhere left!"

"...that's all you're…"

"I never … I didn't say-"

"-you didn't need to!" Severus' voice suddenly gets louder. "That's all you're fucking worried about, isn't it? Not me! Not her! Not our little kid! But yourself, you selfish old bitch!" 

"I'm selfish?  _I'm_ selfish? I told you to make your choice-"

"I DID MAKE A CHOICE!"

"AND NOW YOU'RE BRINGING THAT TROUBLE HERE!"

Tobias sits straighter, then reaches for the radio, twisting the volume even higher - and the loud commentary hurts her ears. The interruption seems to calm the mood in the kitchen, and she meets Tobias' eyes as the arguing dulls back to a low rumble - but now she can't make out a thing that either mother or son are saying.

It doesn't take long - five minutes, maybe as many as ten - but then she hears a loud bang. She's startled, and she struggles to her feet - and even Tobias looks at her anxiously, as if he's terrified that she's going to birth a child before him. He stands too, and takes a step towards the door, but before he can reach it, it's thrown open and Eileen storms in, Severus close behind.

"Get away from me!"

"I only-" 

"I said, get out! Get out of my house!"

"No! You still haven't answered me!" he screams, his face red and filled with rage, and Lily notes that his wand is clenched in his fist. "WHY?!" 

Eileen pauses by the front window, composing herself, and then she turns to Lily, ignoring her son who is quaking with fury. "I do hope you do not indulge him when he speaks to you like this," she says, calmly.

"Don't fucking speak to her," he interrupts, moving to stand between them. "You're talking to me."

"I have had quite enough of talking to you."

"You're twisted," he spits, his anger written all over his face. "I asked you a simple question-"

"-and I was giving the mother of your child some hard won advice," she says, coolly. The temperature in the room seems to drop four or five degrees, as each of them glance at the other, taking in the covered bruises on her face, and Tobias' hardened but still somewhat sheepish look.

"Yeah, well, she doesn't need your advice."

"No? If she's marrying you-"

"There's no fucking _if_ about it!"

"-then surely she wishes to know if the apple falls far from the tree."

"And which tree are we talking about? The rotten oak in the corner-"

"Oi!"

"-or the poison ivy in front of me?"

To her credit, Eileen doesn't flinch, but instead, smirks - and her expression is eerily reminiscent of the look Lily so often sees on Severus' own features. "If the fruit of the tree is an apple…"

"...then the tree is an apple tree," Lily quietly finishes. 

Eileen smiles at her triumphantly. "Ten points to Gryffindor."

Severus scowls. "Ten points to Gryffindor," he sneers. "It's the only fucking thing you've said about that place-"

"-I've already told you-"

"-and you're both missing the point! My relationship with Lil has nothing to do with you!"

"If you do not answer to me about your relationship, then I do not answer to you about mine with your father," she waspishly retorts. "I will not be made to feel guilty-"

"-I wasn't trying to make you feel guilty!" he yells.

"-about a decision I made decades ago, because some jumped up wizard-"

"Get fucked!" he snaps. "Come on, Lil, we're going." He turns back to his mother, his chest rapidly rising and falling, his heart thundering, "I came here for some advice-"

"Advice? Advice? I'll give you some advice-"

"-I don't want to hear it!"

"You're _just_ like your father," she spits as he reaches the front door, his fingers on the handle. Eileen smiles nastily as he falters, and then she looks at Lily, deliberately reaching up to tentatively press her fingers against her bruised face. "That's what you wanted to know, isn't it? It's that brute in there he takes after. Not me." And then she smiles thinly, her eyes locked on to Lily as she grasps her hand. "I do wish you luck."

* * *

"Sev." He storms ahead, and she calls after him. "Sev, please, wait!"

He turns then, as if realising that she can't keep pace, not in her pregnant state and he swings back to face her. "They," he spits, "are never ever meeting our child."

"Sev, don't-"

"-I mean it," he says, his black eyes glinting oddly. "Bean is never stepping foot in that sorry excuse for a house, with those sorry excuses for…"

"...parents?"

"Humans, I was going to say," he mutters, disgust filling his tone. 

"Did she tell you anything useful?"

"No."

"Nothing at all?"

"I just said no," he barks, his irritation clear. 

"Did you ask-"

"Yes!"

She pauses, letting him walk on until he realises that she's not keeping step with him. 

He stops then, and turns back. "What? Come on, Lil, I've had enough for one morning."

"You said yes, and you didn't know what I was going to ask."

"...what were you going to ask?"

"Why she moved away-"

"-yes," he interrupts, irritation filling his voice again. "Yes, I fucking asked her. I asked her how she met him, and why she left the wizarding world, and why she doesn't use magic, and why she lets him beat her black and blue-"

"-and she didn't tell you _anything_ useful?"

There's a very long silence - all the way over the river, through the park, and back to her parents' house. When they reach the door, he stops, and waves her inside.

"Sev…"

"I'm going to go and put down the rest of the deposit at the lettings agents so we can set a move in date," he says, his voice oddly distant. "Then I'm going to go and see Sluggy."

"No, Sev," she says, reaching for him. "You're too vulnerable."

"I'm fine."

"You're not."

"Lil, just fuck off!" 

She takes a step away from him then, her expression wary, and Eileen's words suddenly whispering in her ear.  _He's just like his father._

"No," he says, anguish filling his face, his hand outstretched and taking a step towards her. "No, I didn't mean that."

"...you did."

"I didn't."

"Severus, just…" She looks at him, and shakes her head. "I'm going back to bed. Go for a run or something, burn some of that anger off." She lifts her hand, and takes his, and then she runs her fingers gently down his face. "But don't go into the wizarding world like this. Go to Rillwych, if that'll make you feel better, but don't involve Sluggy. Not right now."

He nods, stiffly, and she can see his Adam's apple bobbing in his neck. 

"Unless you want to talk?"

He shakes his head.

"Then come back upstairs when you're ready," she says, dropping her hand from his.

He watches her as she enters the house, and then, as the door closes, he exhales loudly. He walks around the back of the house, waiting for her to appear in her bedroom window, and then he watches her close the curtains - but if she sees him, she gives no indication of it.

Then, he stalks to the front of the house, and does as she suggested - he runs. His pace is slow at first, his limbs unused to the movement, and then he picks up speed - like his body finding its rhythm, muscle memory flooding back. He runs around the estate, and it works, cleanses him somehow - the breeze in his face, through his hair, and as he becomes out of breath, he pants, all thoughts of the morning shoved roughly to one side in his brain; the bruises, the anger, the accusations, the blame. 

 _Put it in a box, put it in a box, put it in a box_.

"Just run," he mutters to himself, trying to fight the voice roaring in his head, "run away."

 _Yes. Run away. Like a coward_.

* * *

Although his boots were not ideal for running in, and he's certain he's got a blister forming on the back of his heel, he feels calmer when he approaches her house again. The back door is wide open, and he greets Rose in the kitchen, then excuses himself for a shower. He's quick, perfunctory, but he feels better when he heads back to their room, clad in just his underwear.

He softly knocks on her bedroom door, clutching the rest of his clothes to his chest, and then he gently pushes it open. He smiles when he sees her lying in the bed, and he puts his clothes on the floor and climbs in next to her.

"Hey," he murmurs, placing his hand on her hip, and smiling when she rests her own on top. 

"Feeling better?"

"Yes." He kisses the back of her neck. "I'm sorry."

"I know."

"They get under my skin."

"I know."

"It's not just him."

"I know."

He sighs loudly. "She's worse, in some ways. He's just...violent. Angry. Frustrated at the world and all who sail within her."

"And she's not?"

"She's a spiteful, vindictive bitch."

His words hang in the air for so long, he starts to feel uncomfortable.  _She's still your mother_ , he thinks.  _You don't say stuff like that to the mother of your child_. He draws in a breath, about to apologise, when Lily slides her fingers between his own. 

"...what did she say to you, Sev?"

"...lots of things." He chews on his lip. "She blames me for the state of them." 

"That's ridiculous. You haven't lived there for years."

He gives a sharp intake of breath. "I think seeing us together doesn't help. She can't bear to see us happy. ...I was serious about Bean."

"...I thought you were." She turns then, twisting her neck to look at him. "We can do whatever you think is best."

They lie together, the sunlight shining around the curtains, but the room in shade - the sort of semi-darkness that only happens in the middle of the day in the summer. 

"I wanted her to love Bean."

"Oh, Sev." She turns fully, pressing her forehead against his, and holding his hands tightly. 

"...it was stupid," he says, his voice cracking, "because she never fucking loved me." 

"She did, Sev," Lily says, soothingly, "she does. In her own way. She's just not great at showing-"

"-she told me that I was some sort of miracle, an against-all-the-odds child."

"See," she says, a small smile playing on her lips. "A miracle."

"Not for her," he says, and now there are tears openly falling down his face. "She told me that she wished I'd never been born."

Lily can't help the gasp of shock that emits from her lips. "Sev, this is insane. I know she's…" She pauses, breathing heavily. "I know things haven't always been great between you, but she has been there for you in the past."

"Sometimes."

"Yes, well, that's what I mean. And now you're saying…" Lily pulls him closer to her, and reaches to wipe the tears from his cheeks with her forefinger. "What on earth were you talking about for her to say such awful things?"

His voice is low, barely audible. "There was an article in the newspaper. About that new political movement. A picture."

"Oh, Sev."

"Of me."

"Sev, that's-"

"Da saw it. Hit the roof." He gives a twisted laugh. "Hit her, more like." He looks pained. "So, she was right. It is me. I am the cause."

"No," Lily argues, "he is responsible for his own actions."

"But I light the touchpaper, Lil, that's what she's saying. If it wasn't for me-"

"-did you tell her? About Dumbledore?"

"I showed her my arm. Now it's blank again. Thought that would convince her."

"And?"

"...she reckons she's seen this sort of stuff before."

"The Death Eaters?"

"Yeah."

"So, she doesn't think that he's...gone from inside you?"

He gives a tight shake of his head. "I think, Lil, we might not be able to hide in Rillwych." And then he presses his forehead against hers, and she can feel his tears splashing against her face. "I think… I think I'm going to have to go back." 


End file.
